


Warming Up

by pherryt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist!Steve, Brainwashing, Cuddle for Warmth, First Aid, First Kiss, Implied Tony/Steve - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, PTSD, Pining, Running Away, Snowed In, bed sharing, cint's farm, deaf!cllnt, hurt comfort, hurt!Clint, mild to moderate hypothermia, post wintersoldier, safehouse, some violence but not too graphic, tub sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: The last thing Clint expected when SHIELD went down and he had to make his way to his safehouse was to find the Winter Soldier already using it.No, maybe the last thing he expected was for all his survival instincts to say screw it, and let him stay.This couldn't possibly go wrong, could it?





	1. Clint POV - Unlikely Houseguests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feathers_and_cigarettes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a quick oneshot for the current art prompt on the [reverse prompt blog. ](https://reverseprompts.tumblr.com/) But nooooooo. it got out of hand very, very fast. Feathers and my daughter have been chanting at me the whole time, trying to get me to make it an epic story of 75k...
> 
> i started writing this on Easter. I finished it last night. its 44k. i'm editing the chapters now and then posting when they're ready.
> 
> Also, thank you to Feathers for the vote of confidence. i had a weird day where i decided i hated everything about this story and that i wasn't good enough and almost deleted ALL of it, about halfway through writing it, and he convinced me not to. 
> 
> So... this is my first foray into writing a long Winterhawk story, and i started it before i wrote most of my few clint barton bingos. I hope you like it!

Clint had made it halfway through the safehouse – the one not even Natasha knew about – when he realized it wasn’t quite as safe as he’d thought by tripping over a pair of heavy, worn, jet black combat boots.

_Nat would be so disappointed in me_ , he mourned as he windmilled to keep from falling over or into anything – 1) to avoid alerting whoever was there and 2) to keep from making his injuries worse.

He fell over anyway with a yelp and froze, eyes darting around to see who would be coming out of the woodwork.

Nothing.

Easing himself up with a wince, Clint looked over the room more carefully than he had upon his entrance.

Turned out, the boots weren’t the only items of clothing strewn about the old, beat up room. There was a pair of bloody pants and some kind of shirt and armor – also bloody - on the rickety table, and Clint’s fully stocked First Aid kit beside it, no longer quite so stocked.

He turned his hearing aids way up, but he heard nothing except for country noises – crickets and shit like that. He’d picked this place, off the beaten path, for a reason.

Looked like someone else had too. He just had to hope they were friendly, not foe, but with the news that HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD, he was no longer sure how he would know.

He also didn’t have anywhere else to hole up, unless he wanted to intrude on Tony. There was no way Tony was HYDRA but that was a problem for future Clint. Current Clint was hurt, hungry and exhausted and he needed to take care of all of that before he could make his way to Avengers Tower or try to contact Nat.

Torn, Clint eyed the First Aid kit. He really needed to tend to his wounds, sooner rather than later. He took a step towards the table then whirled, bow out and arrow knocked before he could register  _why_ he was moving –

\- and stared into the face of the unfairly attractive Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier.

His shoulder length hair was dripping wet, and he was shirtless and the look on his face was one of resignation, his voice tired as he spoke.

“Steve sent you?”

“Steve?” Clint blinked at Bucky, wheels turning. He’d heard nothing from Steve since the fall. Natasha had briefly sent a cryptic message that Bucky being the Winter Soldier and possibly something about brainwashing – Clint shuddered - but then had gone radio silent. “Why would he – “ Clint’s eyes drifted downward as he assessed the other man for weapons – though Bucky technically  _was_ a weapon, whether he was carrying one or not - and his brain short-circuited. “Hey! That’s my towel!”

Bucky looked down and back up at Clint with a baffled look. “Is that what really matters right now?”

“What?”

“If you’re gonna shoot me, shoot me,” Bucky groused. “If not, it’s cold in here and I’m tired of being cold.”

Clint’s arms wavered and suddenly he felt as if he’d been plunged into the past, when it was Natasha he was staring at, her eyes cold and tired.

He lowered his bow.

_Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea,_ he thought to himself. He pushed it down. It hadn’t been a bad idea with Nat and while all his training was telling him to keep a weapon trained on Bucky, all of his instincts were screaming otherwise.

Eh, screw it. He lowered the bow and put the arrow away all while Bucky watched Clint warily.

“Well. Okay.” He stepped forward and Clint moved aside, watching Bucky make his way to the bloody clothes.

“There’s spare clothes in the closet,” Clint said, pulling the quiver over his head with another wince. Maybe some broken ribs – either from the fall or from the guys who tried to kick the shit outta him. He’d sure showed them. “Might be a little big, but they’re clean.” He paused. “Well, they might be dusty, but at least they aren’t bloody.”

He dumped his bow and quiver on the table and gingerly sat down to pull his boots off.

“So, you going to tell Steve I’m here?”

Clint grunted as he yanked off the boot, his ankle already swollen. He looked up at Bucky. “Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not.”

“Why? You’re an Avenger. You’re teammates.”

Clint grunted as he yanked at the other boot, almost clocking himself in the face when it came off a tad easier than the last. “Right now, all I want is a shower, some food and to sleep. We can talk about everything else later,  _including_  why you don’t want your best friend to find you.”

Glancing at the first aid supplies, Clint grabbed the box and headed for the bathroom, leaving a stunned Bucky Barnes behind. He shed his clothes the minute the door was closed.

No, scratch that. He leaned back against the door, closed his eyes and just  _breathed_  first.

Holy fucking shit. Bucky Barnes. Here. In Clint’s safehouse. And not on a murderous rampage.

He was either the luckiest guy in the world, or Bucky’d kill him in his sleep. At this point, Clint wasn’t sure which he preferred as he peeled himself out of his clothes, grimacing as he had to tear cloth out of wounds as he did.

The old clawfoot tub made him pause. He’d forgotten that this safehouse didn’t have a proper shower. Oh well, clean was clean, and his muscles were sore as fuck. He turned the water on, tested the temperature, letting it get nice and hot. He watched the tub fill for a few moments while debating internally about his aids before he finally sighed, took them out and then he stepped into the tub.

If Bucky was gonna kill him… well…

Clint was too tired to come up with anything witty, which was a sure sign of the apocalypse, he was fairly certain.

He eased himself down with a hiss and then slumped down till he could submerge himself almost completely. Luckily, none of his injuries needed stitching and even his cuts had stopped bleeding but damn they stung when he hit the hot water.

He was unsure how long he’d been drifting off when he was hauled upright out of the tub, spluttering and coughing up water, to stare into the _concerned_ face of the Winter Soldier.

_What?_

“What?” he choked, his mouth echoing his thoughts without any filter.

Bucky’s lips moved and Clint stared at them blearily, unable to make anything out. Groaning, he held up a hand. “Wait, wait, can’t hear a thing. Just…” he coughed again, his ribs aching with every jerk of his body. He groped about for a towel and forced aching muscles to dry his face and hair before looking for his hearing aids.

With a sigh, he turned back to a perplexed looking Bucky, rubbing himself down slowly. Looked like bath time was over.

“Okay, so why did you barge in here? Something up?”

“You’d been in here a while. Thought I’d check on you,” Bucky looked uncertain, like he wasn’t sure why he was worried. And he _was_ worried, that much was clear. Aww, Bucky… looked like Clint’s instincts were on the ball today. “Thought you were drowning.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” Clint grinned. Bucky grimaced and Clint grinned brighter until he hit his ribs with the towel, the dull ache becoming a sharp pain. He froze and grunted, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. The pain eased up, exhaustion slamming in to him right behind it and he sagged slightly.

The towel in his hand was tugged away and he barely held back the gasp as it was moved gently over his body. Opening his eyes, Clint stared at Bucky in wonder, the other man’s face hidden by that curtain of hair.

Clint cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Bucky just grunted as he finished, then steered Clint over to sit down on the closed toilet. He knelt beside him, dragging over the first aid kit.

“Why?” Clint asked suddenly, cursing himself even as he did. Why was he questioning this?

“You’re Stevie’s friend. You’re… you’re one of the good guys.” Bucky said as he wiped at Clint’s scratches with antiseptic and bandaging them up. If it had been up to Clint, he’d have left most of them alone, but it seemed to make Bucky feel better to do something.

“So are you,” Clint said.

The head of hair shifted side to side as Bucky’s hands paused, trembling against Clint’s skin. “No, I’m not. Not anymore. HYDRA – “

“No, Barnes,” Clint said, reaching out to grab Bucky’s shoulder, only noticing afterwards which arm it was. Could Bucky feel that?

The hair shifted again, Bucky turning to stare at Clint’s hand. Huh, maybe he could.

“Look… I can’t say I know what happened with HYDRA, but I know you were a good man before, and that whatever you’ve done since, it wasn’t by choice.”

The curtain lifted and Bucky’s haunted eyes met Clint’s, his voice rough and despairing. “How can you know that? _I_ don’t know that. I can’t even remember – I – “ he choked off and looked away, taking a breath. His hands started moving again, this time reaching for Clint’s ribs and wrapping them in silence as Clint tried to force his tired brain to think, to figure out how to proceed.

He’d moved on to Clint’s right knee, then his left ankle, wrapping them carefully but firmly in ace bandages before Clint finally spoke again.

“I’ve done things too. So’s Natasha. So’s Tony and Bruce. We’ve been coerced, brainwashed, tricked, trained… been naïve or plain old blind. We’ve all done things, Barnes. Even Steve. You’re not alone.”

“Not Stevie. Never Steve,” Bucky said, his unwavering faith in his childhood friend shining strong, like the friendship Clint had with Nat. He cleaned up the trash and closed the first aid kit with jerky movements, a contrast to the gentleness Bucky had been so careful to use on Clint’s wounds.

“You don’t have to hide from him, y’know?” Clint said.

Bucky stood abruptly, snapping up the kit and turned on his heels. Barefoot, he stalked out of the bathroom, leaving Clint sitting there, naked except his bandages, the towel laying dirty and bloody – something must have reopened after all, he thought idly – in a heap on the floor.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and padded after Bucky, unconcerned with his nakedness, just wanting to find the bed.

Crap.

He froze as realization washed through him.

This place only had one bed. And that couch was crap. He wasn’t sleeping on the couch, but Bucky had gotten here first, he’d probably already laid claim to the bed.

Awwww, soft bed, no….

He’d really been looking forward to that soft bed.

Clint stood in the doorway of the bathroom, Bucky nowhere in sight. Fucker was fast. Still… he turned first for the kitchen, wincing as he walked but pushing forward anyway. The table had been cleaned off, but a sandwich sat there.

Aww… sandwich, _yes!_

He snatched it up and took a bite, groaning in bliss, knocking his hip into the table and leaning back. He finished it quickly, settling the gnawing in his stomach, his eyes drooping. He pushed away from the table and fumbled for a glass of water. He gulped down two glasses and stumbled back out of the kitchen and came face to face with the couch.

He stared for a good long moment.

“Screw it. My safehouse. My bed,” he mumbled, shuffling to the back bedroom.

The bed was, as expected, already occupied. He shouldn’t be doing this. Bucky Barnes may have been Steve’s best friend – once upon a time – but he was also the Winter Soldier. An assassin. A tool for HYDRA…

But Clint’s instincts were still clamoring to trust Bucky and Clint was ready to collapse right then and there, and he’d rather collapse on something soft then the cold, hard floor.

“My safehouse, my bed,” he mumbled tiredly, as he pulled back the blankets and crawled into bed. He could feel how still Bucky got, despite not having been moving to start with but Clint ignored him and relaxed into the mattress and pillow with a groan.

Bucky shifted uneasily beside him, started to ease out of the bed.

“Don’t be stupid,” Clint slurred. “Not kickin’ ya out, but ‘s my bed. Need mah bed.” He closed his eyes, the exhaustion catching up to him. “Feel free t’stay, Barnes, but I ain’t movin’ for the next 12 hours.” He reconsidered. “’less there’s a ‘mergency.”

He felt Bucky resettle back into the bed, the room quiet except for their breathing and let it lull him into sleep.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

He woke slowly and groggily a few hours later, uncertain as to why. He yawned and whined when his ribs twinged. His ears ached and he realized he’d left his aids in. Grumbling, he reached up to pull them off, trying to roll over and place them on the side table. Fingers gently pulled them from his hands, a weight keeping him from finishing the roll which Clint had known would aggravate his ribs. He watched the aids get put down, and then hands gently moved him to his back.

He looked up into Bucky’s grey - blue eyes, his cheeks flushed as he looked away before he lay back down, turning his back to Clint as he did.

“Thanks,” Clint said.

If Bucky answered him, Clint had no idea, but eventually, sleep pulled him back under again.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

The smell of breakfast woke him the second time, the tantalizing smell of coffee leading him almost blindly through the small building.

Bucky stood there, shirtless, barefoot, over the stove. He’d tensed and froze for an instant as Clint entered, but Clint ignored it, beelining for the coffee and pouring himself a mug, using one that had been sitting waiting for him.

He hummed appreciatively, eyes closing happily, the vibrations and scent soothing him. He was halfway through his first mug when a tap interrupted his coffee induced haze. He blinked his eyes open to see Bucky, blushing - and wasn’t that just adorable – and pointedly trying (and failing) to not look down.

Clint followed his flickering gaze down and blinked.

Oh. Right. Still naked.

He looked back up with a smirk. “Like what you see?”

Bucky frowned and gestured towards his ears. Okay, also that. Whatever. It was no big deal and Clint waved his concerns away.

“Don’t worry. I can read your lips, as long as you don’t hide behind that hair of yours, pretty as that mane is.”

Bare shoulders heaved up and down in an inaudible but really clear sigh. “Clothes?”

Clint grinned. “Privacy of my own safehouse, who needs ‘em? But sure, Barnes, if it makes you feel better.” Bucky started to sag in relief and Clint held up a hand. “ _After_ coffee. I’ve got priorities, man.”

Bucky glared but turned away and Clint lost himself in his cup of coffee. And then a second, because one was never enough.

He reached for a third when Bucky shoved something into his view. He blinked at the cloth, then up at Bucky. Bucky’s face was red and he wasn’t looking at Clint.

“What’s this?”

Bucky mumbled and thrust the cloth closer – Clint’s eyes crossed trying to focus on it.

“Sorry, what?”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged again and he faced Clint. “Pants. Now.”

Clint sighed and pouted. “So, not interested then?” What the hell was he doing? Was he flirting with the Winter Soldier? Well… why wouldn’t he? The man was abso-fucking-lutely adorable when flustered.

Humoring him, Clint shifted his mug to one hand – unwilling to give up the sweet, sweet nectar of coffee – and attempted to put his pants on at the same time.

It didn’t, of course, end well. He tripped over the pants leg and pitched forward, spilling coffee all over Bucky before slamming into him with a grunt of pain because he’d jostled his ribs.

Because of course.

Bucky caught him, straightening him up, his bare, naked chest now wet with coffee. Hot, hot coffee.

“Awww, coffee, no…” Clint reached out to touch Bucky’s chest, unable to restrain himself even that much. At least he hadn’t licked it off, right? Now there was an idea…

Bucky vibrated under his fingers and Clint glanced up.

“You’re a disaster,” Bucky repeated, staring at Clint incredulously. “How are you still alive?”

“Don’t know why you’d say that!” Clint said, distracted, still mourning his coffee and now staring at Bucky’s lips.

_No. stop staring at the confused assassins’ lips, Clint_ , he scolded himself.

But why? Why should he stop? Bucky was a work of art and Clint couldn’t get enough of staring at him. Or touching him for that matter. Oh yeah.

Clearing his throat, Clint pulled his fingers way reluctantly. At least they didn’t need to worry about scarring or burns. The coffee hadn’t been _that_ hot and the redness was already fading. Except it wasn’t – Bucky’s face was redder than red but Clint knew the coffee hadn’t spilt there.

Mmm…. Interesting. Maybe he -

“Will you just put on some damn pants already?”

Or not. Bucky was just probably embarrassed as hell at having to hole up with a disaster. Hiding his disappointment, Clint picked up the pants and noted that they seemed to have escaped the Great Coffee Spill and slipped them on.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Breakfast over and partially dressed, Clint wandered back into what passed for a living room. The single, sad and beat up couch, a much scarred coffee table, and a bookcase filled with books, puzzles and supplies.

There wasn’t even a tv and wasn’t that the saddest thing ever? How was he going to keep up to date on Dog Cops now? He’d have to hope nobody at the tower had erased his DVR preferences.

He pulled his equipment over to the table, snagged some things off the bookcase and spent some time going over everything – first inspecting it all and sorting them into the ‘I can fix this’ ‘I _have_ to fix this’ and ‘oh shit, how am I going to fix this?’ pile system he’d long ago developed.

He’d gotten so lost in his work that Clint almost hadn’t noticed when Bucky joined him, doing the same. His eyes flickered up and met Bucky’s’, an understanding passing between them, and then they got back to work. Clint had put his aides back in, but they spent the next few hours in a silence only broken by their task.

Clint was gonna go fucking crazy at this rate.

It wasn’t like he _needed_ a ton of talking, okay? He could do the stakeout spy shit and not say a god damn word for fucking _days_. But with Bucky sharing his space, well, Clint kinda _did_ need to break the all too familiar silence, needed to be in a space that was filled with words and sounds, not the feeling of someone ignoring him so completely that he might as well not exist.

So he tried. He tried to engage Bucky, to interest him in conversation. Started small and light – like what brought them here (no details. He could be an idiot sometimes, he knew, but he’s not fucking stupid) then when that barely got any responses, he’d talked about his childhood – heavily edited, of course – and when that failed, they talked weapons.

Each time Bucky would only grunt and frown and say not another word.

Clint had just about resigned himself to silence on Bucky’s behalf when he finally _did_ speak.

“Why a bow?”

Finally.

“Because it’s a challenge. Because it’s quieter than a gun and just as deadly. It’s unique and also feels comfortable in my hand. Because it was the first thing I was ever good at, that made me matter to those around me.” Clint shrugged. “Take your pick.”

The cessation of noise made him look up, Bucky looking at him strangely.

“What?” Clint asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to figure out Bucky’s expressions.

“Is... that all you are? A weapon?”

“I mean, I’ve also got a sunny personality and I’m an absolute joy to be around,” Clint smirked at Bucky. “– you should ask Nat sometime. Or Steve.”

“What about Tony Stark?”

“What would he say if you asked? Hell, Tony thinks I’m a riot. And a disaster. I’m pretty sure he’s got a no Clint allowed sign on his labs. Afraid I’ll either corrupt his robots or have an accident,” Clint mused.

“You do seem a little… accident prone.” Bucky said, turning back to attending to his gear.

“Oh man, you’ve got me pegged,” Clint groaned. “You and Tony’d probably get on like a house on fire. Bonding over your poor opinions of me.”

“I…” Bucky started, stopped, looked away, then back down at hands that were moving automatically, methodically about his work. He fell silent for a long, long while. It was the kind of silence that seemed to be full, waiting and Clint nearly held his breath, counseling himself to be patient.

“I think I killed Howard Stark,” Bucky admitted in a small, confused voice.

“Oh,” Clint said, blinking. He supposed that would put a damper on any chance of a relationship between Tony and Bucky. Well… Shit. No wonder he’d fallen silent. Now what?

“So… uh…. Winter Soldier. HYDRA… but not anymore. How did – “

“Steve. We beat each other up and the he just… let me… and I…” his flat words faltered, the rest coming out choked, full of pain. “And I started to _remember_.”

“It wasn’t _you_ ,” Clint said, watching Bucky carefully. His face was anguished, his hands frozen and clenched, the knuckles stark white. Suddenly this conversation felt like a minefield.

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that,” Bucky said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Actually…” Clint looked away, the memories from New York still raw, despite it being nearly two years ago. “Of all of them, I might understand best.”

Standing abruptly and setting everything to the side, Clint grunted at the movement and headed for the kitchen. If this was the conversation he was having, he needed to fortify himself. The question was coffee or liquor.

Or what if he had both?

He set the pot going and then banged through the cabinets in search for liquor. Nothing, of course. He must have drunk it all the last time he was here. Dammit.

Damn past Clint anyway.

He settled against the counter and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he waited for the coffee. Two dull clinks hit the counter beside him unexpectedly but he didn’t jump, despite that. What was it about Bucky that didn’t set him on edge? He should be tensing at the other man’s presence in his space. Bucky was an unknown, a deadly assassin – possibly the deadliest, though it was a toss up between Bucky and Nat.

Point was, he shouldn’t feel so at ease around Bucky, but he did.

Damn current Clint too. He was probably gonna get future Clint killed at some point.

He opened his eyes to find two coffee mugs waiting beside the pot, Bucky leaning on the counter on the other side of it, watching Clint warily but curiously, questions in his eyes. Maybe questions he wasn’t sure what the words were yet.

Fair enough. Clint wasn’t sure he had the right answers for him.

“So… brainwashing, yeah? Something pretty intense if it’s affected your memory. Might uh… be for the best. I remember all of it. Which makes for some sleepless nights,” Clint said softly, his guts twisting. “And the guilt is… it can become unbearable at times, though I know no one blames me for the things I did. Can’t help the way you feel sometimes, right?”

Bucky made a soft noise beside him, but didn’t say anything. They stood there in silence – that was becoming a theme around here, wasn’t it? – waiting for the coffee to finish. Soon enough, they were sitting at the table, Clint cupping both hands around his mug to warm himself up – both physically and not.

Huh.

Maybe he should put on a shirt.

Then again, if he put on a shirt, Bucky might too, and that was a sight Clint didn’t want to lose.

He knew Bucky was waiting for him to elaborate, but Clint hadn’t even talked to the mandated shrink about everything that happened and the words were hard to find.

“You’re right, I was,” Bucky said.

Clint looked up, their eyes meeting and understanding passing between them.

“No one will blame you. They don’t blame me; they won’t blame you either. Steve especially. I promise,” Clint said.

Bucky made a face and a half shrug and sipped his coffee.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Clint asked.

Bucky froze, then hunched in on himself, shaking his head. “I can’t – “

“It’s okay, not gonna force you to do anything, Barnes,” Clint said as reassuringly as he could.

Slowly, Bucky’s shoulders relaxed. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Clint echoed.

Conversation fell away then, neither of them feeling up to it. They finished their coffee, Bucky nursing his one cup as Clint made his way through 3 more, shooting Bucky a defiant look when the other man stared at Clint disbelievingly when Clint went back for yet more coffee.

Coffee was life. Bucky’d just have to deal with it.

Or, what if he could convert Bucky, make him love coffee as much as Cint – no, that was crazy talk. Then there’d be less coffee for Clint and that would be a travesty.

* * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * *

The rest of the day passed without incident, the silence becoming more comfortable than Clint had expected. He’d been humming to himself for about an hour when a sandwich was pushed into view and his stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten.

“Thanks, Barnes,” he said, beaming up at Bucky. Bucky shuffled back a step or two then gave him a sharp nod and turned away.

It was while he was munching away at the delicious sandwich – wait, where’d the cold cuts come from? He couldn’t stock anything like that in the safehouse without it going bad – he finally noticed how dark it had gotten. How had time passed so quickly? Normally, holing up like this was torture, the days dragging all too slowly.

Then again, he usually was alone when he went into hiding.

He pushed his equipment away with a yawn, stumbling up so suddenly that Bucky jerked back in surprise.

Clint grimaced. “Sorry. Tired. Goin’ to bed. And don’t even _try_ to sleep on this thing. It’ll kill your back.”

He started to shuffle away when Bucky spoke up.

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“And I’ve slept in better. Look, point is, nobody deserves that thing and we didn’t kill each other in our sleep last night, so I think it’s perfectly safe to share the bed for however long we remain here,” Clint said around another yawn. “But it’s your decision. I’m going to bed.”

He reached the bed, still unmade from that morning or afternoon or whenever it was that he’d actually woken up. Come to think of it, there weren’t actually any clocks around here and what had happened to his phone, anyway?

Ah, he’d deal with that tomorrow. Shucking off the pants, Clint climbed into the bed and pulled the blankets up after him. The little house was warmer than it had been when he arrived yesterday – else he and Bucky wouldn’t have been comfortable wandering around shirtless and barefoot all day – but there was something comforting about the weight of a warm, soft blanket.

He did his best _not_ to burrito himself in it, else it might discourage Bucky from joining him.

Wait, was he trying to _encourage_ Bucky?

No, that was way too much to try and unwrap right now. He barely remembered to take out his aids and set them aside before he curled up as comfortably as he could with his ribs, closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing and thinking nothing.

The nothing was the hardest part but eventually he fell asleep.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Clint woke up with a start some hours later, breathing hard and shaking, lost in memories of blue, of Loki, of all the things he’d done while Loki had mind controlled him.

Fuck. He’d been doing so good. The nightmares hadn’t plagued him as much recently, nor as badly as the ones tonight – ones where he’d never been broken out of Loki’s control, ones where he’d succeeded in killing Nat.

Though it had never happened, it was all he could see – her broken, lifeless body at his feet, the mere cherry on top of a pile of others whose deaths he _was_ responsible for.

He shook, gulping down breaths as he closed his eyes and tried to rid himself of the images burnt into his mind. He rocked forward, his had hitting something hard and only in that moment did he realize he was being held.

And he was holding on to the Winter Soldier as if for dear life.

Maybe he should be ashamed of this, of clinging to what amounted to as a perfect stranger, of showing weakness to that stranger – something that had been drilled in him _to never do_ – but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Talking – even as little as it had been – about New York had brought up too much of his old baggage, things he’d thought he’d mostly buried, at least enough to function.

Tonight was proving him wrong and he wasn’t averse of taking some comfort in the arms of probably the only other person he knew who could understand what he’d gone through.

Slowly, his breathing evened out and Clint came to realize there were vibrations - deep, rumbly, soothing vibrations – rolling up from Bucky, through Clint’s hands and head. Bucky was saying… something, he had no clue, but Bucky was well aware already that Clint couldn’t hear him so whatever he was saying must be the sort of general, soothing nonsense that people spilled in situations like these.

Somehow, though, Clint had a feeling Bucky was singing. A vague memory of his childhood, when he still had someone who cared enough to take care of him after a nightmare, teased at the edges of his mind. Of songs with words or simple hums, lullabies and anything else that had come to mind, lulling Clint into a sense of calm and back to sleep.

Just as Bucky was now doing.

He’d stopped shaking, finally, and he gave Bucky’s arms a squeeze, managed a rough, “Thanks,” and tried to pull away.

Bucky let him and Clint lay back on the bed, suddenly feeling colder. A small shiver ran through him and Bucky moved from the edge of the bed to lay out beside him, pulling the blankets over them both. Bucky moved closer to Clint, his hand hovering uncertainly over him until Clint curled back into Bucky’s warmth with a soft sigh.

Tucking his head against Clint’s shoulder blades, Bucky’s arm went around Clint’s waist and pulled him close.

It was almost scary how fast he relaxed into the hold. Even scarier how fast he fell asleep, feeling safe in Bucky’s arms as Clint tried to remember the last time he’d let himself have something like this.

_Way too long, apparently,_ he thought as he was pulled under again.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

The days passed like that, in a strangely easy camaraderie, with nights where they slept wrapped around each other. Clint slept better through the night with Bucky holding him than he had in a long time. The dreams still came, but Bucky was there to chase them away.

And vice versa.

When they ran out of things to do, out of repairs they could make, Clint took to teaching Bucky sign language. Turned out, he already knew a few things, but was just a little rusty. But he was smart, and he learned quick, and in the middle of the night, when either of them had a nightmare and Clint’s hearing aids were too far away to reach – or, more likely, both of them were reluctant to let go of the other long enough to reach for them – and it was too dark to see the subtle movements of lips, the sign language came in handy.

And Clint found it was easier to talk about the nightmares, and the memories and events that fueled them, when he signed. It was, ironically, easier to find his ‘voice’.

Bucky was still quiet about his time as HYDRA’s asset, for the most part, but he seemed to grow more and more at ease as Clint talked about his own experience, growing more and more thoughtful and retrospective.

It was in one of those dead of night heart to hearts when Bucky finally admitted he was afraid – afraid that the conditioning they’d used to make him their Winter Soldier was still there. That he was afraid that every excursion out into the world was a risk of it rising to the surface – but most especially in regards to anyone HYDRA had considered a threat.

And the last commands he’d had, had painted Captain America and Black Widow as threats.

“What if I lose myself again?” Bucky signed. “What if I attack Steve and this time I don’t stop? He’d let me do it, Clint. He already did… if I killed him…”

Clint shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what will happen. You broke through their conditioning once already and if anyone is situated to help you make sure it’s gone, it’d be Tony. He’d have the resources to do it. And I think… the longer you’re out of their control, the harder it’ll be for them to take you back in.”

Pressing in close, Clint’s fingers found their way into Bucky’s hair, as they tended to do whenever it was Bucky’s turn to have a nightmare. “Besides, you’re not alone in this fight. You know Steve has your back, and the Avengers’ll have _his_ back even without knowing what’s going on cause we all trust each other. And… y’know, me too.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” Bucky said.

“Didn’t say it would be,” Clint said.

Bucky pulled back and blinked at him. It was obvious that he hadn’t expected that answer. Had perhaps expected some overly bright platitude, but that wasn’t Clint’s way. He could be optimistic, sure, naïve a bit in some ways, too, but he knew that sometimes, life just didn’t go the way you wanted and optimistic just wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t going to lie to Bucky if he could help it. Lying wouldn’t do a lick of good and could possibly backfire in the long run.

And besides, they’d both had enough of being lied to and manipulated into doing things they didn’t want to do.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

They ran out of food 10 days later, Clint’s carefully stocked Safehouse unable to stand up to Bucky’s appetite, once it came back. Bucky ate like a – well, actually, he ate like Steve. Super soldier metabolism and all that, apparently, and Clint had seen Steve pack it away more than once. The fresh food went first – which Bucky had brought with him - and then the well-stocked pantry of canned foods, ramen, rice and pasta took a pretty damn big hit.

The biggest loss, of course, was the coffee.

“Awww, coffee, no…” Clint mourned as he peered into the empty container.

“You have a very unhealthy obsession with coffee,” Bucky noted, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed as he stared at Clint with an amused look.

“I am not obsessed!” Clint protested. “Nor is this a laughing matter.” He sighed. “Welp, there’s no help for it. One of us has gotta go out and get supplies.”

Bucky tensed beside him, and Clint patted his arm, well aware of his fear. It would probably take Bucky a while to come to terms with that, but Clint wouldn’t push.

“Don’t worry, I’m more than capable of picking up a few groceries,” Clint said. “Let me know if there’s anything particular you were hoping for – write it down while I get properly dressed.”

“About time,” Bucky snorted.

“Hey, haven’t heard _you_ complaining,” Clint shot over his shoulder with a smirk as he left Bucky in the kitchen.

It was only as he rummaged for his wallet that Clint came across his phone and remembered that he hadn’t checked _or_ charged it in days…weeks? Fuck. Well, nothing for it now. He plugged it in by the bed and finished grabbing his things, meeting Bucky in the kitchen once more.

He was standing there nervously.

“Maybe I should go with you,” Bucky suggested. Clint could see it was the last thing he wanted to offer, but the fact that he was actually offering was a great step forward. “You’re still injured. You probably shouldn’t be lifting too much.”

Clint pouted. So much for a great step forward. More like, Clint’s a disaster. “I can handle it. If it makes you feel better, you can bring everything in when I get back.”

He stomped out of the one-story house and stalked over to the car. In no time at all, he was on his way to the store, still fuming about being thought of as helpless. He wasn’t helpless. So what if he was hurt and didn’t heal as fast as certain super soldiers, he was still an Avenger.

He fumed his way through the drive, but by the time he’d made it to the store, the anger had been driven away. It was actually kinda nice that someone worried about him. And someone like the Winter Soldier who was supposed to be emotionless. But Bucky wasn’t that person anymore.

Of course, he wasn’t the Bucky he’d been back before his supposed death either. He was a new person, still finding his way. Clint should probably go a little easier on him. Call him out on bad behaviors, sure, but not assume things about said behaviors.

Sighing, Clint grabbed a cart and, Bucky’s list in hand, started his shopping adventure.

Okay, not so much an adventure as a slog, his mind too caught on Bucky, all alone at the safehouse and the worry that Bucky might not be there when he got back, or that something might happen while he was gone.

With all that running through his head, Clint breezed through the store in – what was for him – record time, but each second still seeming to be a second too long, every register with a line too long, the bagger bagging far too slow. Each second was an agonizing thing and it was with relief that Clint made his escape from the store, his knee and ankle throbbing more painfully than it had for days, his ribs aching dully.

Throwing everything but the eggs into the trunk haphazardly, he nibbled at his bottom lip. The trunk was full, but with Bucky’s metabolism, Clint was certain he’d be back out there again way too soon.

Clint’s wallet might not be able to handle too much of this and he should _probably_ be making his way back to the tower, or at least to Nat, but Bucky wasn’t ready and he was strangely reluctant to leave him alone.

With a sigh, Clint slammed the trunk shut, only to freeze for an instant. Forcing himself to move again, he set to carefully stretching his body, arms going over his head as he turned his senses on the parking lot, trying to figure out what had put him on alert without giving away that he was.

Clint didn’t have his bow on him – shit, what had he been thinking? – but at least he had his knives.

There! A furtive movement on a rooftop on the next building. Dammit. A sniper. No, it couldn’t be, else they’d have taken the shot already, right?

He bent down as if to fix his shoe and slipped a knife into his hand, curling it so it couldn’t be seen before standing and walking to the front of the car as casually as he could, but he didn’t see anyone close by at all and he was starting to regret having parked in Bumfuck, Nowhere.

Then again, the kinds of folks he dealt with weren’t always turned off by the possibilities of an innocent bystander getting hurt so in the end, it didn’t really matter, did it?

He gripped the door handled and pulled – and _that’s_ when the shots started. Clint darted into the car, ducking down as he shoved the keys into the ignition and the knife into the center console. _That’s gonna leave a nice gash in the armrest_ , Clint thought absently. The window shattered above him even as he threw the car into gear and hit the gas. The car moved erratically a few moments as he evaded the shots, unable to safely sit up properly.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

If only he’d had his bow, or anything more long range than his knives. He tore out of the parking lot as fast as he could before straightening in his seat, his ribs twinging painfully and his shoulder screaming.

Wait, his shoulder? Shit, he’d been shot, hadn’t he? Adrenaline was so high he hadn’t even felt it hit, but he couldn’t stop to look now, he had to get out of there and had to get back to Bucky without being followed.

He took his time, despite how agonizing it was to not rush to the safehouse (to Bucky’s side) to lose any pursuit through a twisting, serpentine route through the small town and almost breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to the outskirts it without further incident.

But then his car was shoved off the road, hard, smashing up against a couple of close-grown trees.

 

 


	2. Bucky's POV - Making a Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i'm pretty much posting as i edit... so the chapters should go up fairly quickly - sorry about the uh, cliffhanger! and thank you all for all the wonderful comments i've gotten!!! :D

Bucky watched Clint drive away with a bad, bad feeling in his gut.

There was no good reason for it, but there it was all the same.

It was strange how shacking up in a seemingly deserted house in the middle of nowhere to both lick his wounds _and_ find himself again, had somehow wound up with him rooming with Clint Barton – an associate of his best buddy, and someone fast becoming a friend.

He’d learned that Barton was a very tactile person and had seemingly no fear of Bucky. Either the man was insane, lacked self-preservation or…

Or he was seeing something in Bucky that Bucky wasn’t.

He trudged back into the house and stopped, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. It felt… empty. Without Clint. Even when Clint was quiet, he seemed to take up space. No, that wasn’t quite it. He made Bucky feel welcome. Not alone.

_Warm._

When Barton had first stumbled into what turned out to be Clint’s safehouse, Bucky had nearly sagged, had nearly given up right then and there. He was tired, and cold, and the world had changed around him.

He had changed, and not for the better.

The things he’d done under HYDRA.

So many unforgiveable things.

And then there was Steve.

Bucky had tried to kill the one person who’d meant more to him then Bucky’s own safety _ever_ had. And Steve had almost  _let_ him. Those last few moments were still a little fuzzy to him, unsure if he’d stopped or if something had stopped him. He could only remember dragging Steve up on to the bank and then leaving him there to be found.

But Bucky didn’t dare let _himself_ be found. Couldn’t let himself stay near his best friend. What if his HYDRA programming reasserted itself and he tried again?

What if this time, he didn’t fail?

So when Hawkeye of the Avengers appeared where Bucky had sought refuge and drew on him, Bucky would have let him do it. Had, in fact, been resigned to the fact. Like a feral dog that needed to be put down.

For some reason incomprehensible to Bucky, Barton hadn’t. Instead, Barton had dropped the bow and, perhaps still a little wary but not wary enough, he’d moved through the small house with the intent of fixing his own wounds.

Bucky hadn’t asked. He’d simply availed himself of the clothes that Barton had offered, then made himself dinner – nothing fancy, just a couple of sandwiches, but it had felt good to make and eat _real_ food – leaving another behind for Barton for when he got out of the bathroom. It wasn’t too much trouble to make another while he had everything out and Bucky was feeling… feeling like he should repay him somehow for the trust, for the space Barton was allowing him to share.

It was a strange thing, and Bucky couldn’t understand why Barton had done it. A sandwich was a small thing in comparison, but it was… it was _something_.

But then when it had been over an hour and Barton was still in there, Bucky became worried.

What if Barton had succumbed to his wounds? The notion swirled around him uncomfortably. It didn’t sit right with Bucky, to just ignore the injured man if he was going to trust Bucky so far as to let him live  _and_ let him stay, the offer of clothes as much of a welcome as Bucky could have expected – which he hadn’t. He’d knocked on the door and called through it. Then knocked again, louder, more urgently.

When there was no answer, Bucky’s worry turned to all out panic, turning the knob – thank god it wasn’t locked, though this door wouldn’t have held up to him if he’d had to force his way in – only to find Barton sunk so low in the water that it looked like his body was lifeless.

He'd rushed to the tub, thrust his hands into the now tepid water to grab Barton and yanked him out.

Which was when he’d learned exactly how badly hurt Barton was _and_ that he was deaf. Bucky had insisted on helping to patch him up with half remembered memories of doing similar for Steve running through his head. His fingers certainly seemed to know what they were doing as he took care of Barton.

Doing so also soothed something in him. It felt _good_ to take care of somebody again. Like he was more than a mindless weapon.

And then he’d mentioned Steve and Bucky felt cold and scared.

He wasn’t ready to face Steve yet. Wasn’t sure he’d ever be. Bucky had done so _many_ bad things. He’d been weak, let them mess him up. He’d stopped fighting the conditioning they’d layered on him. Bucky should have fought back harder. Should have been stronger.

Steve would never have given up, would never have succumbed the way he had.

He was ashamed of himself, as Steve must surely be.

What if… what if he really _was_ a monster, deep down underneath it all, and the reason HYDRA had been so successful was because all they did was unbury the monster he really was and bring it into the light?

It was those thoughts that kept him awake at night, despite the relative comfort of another human body laying next to his.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something like that.

Was he selfish to lay there next to Barton, to intrude on his personal space and his nightmares? Did he deserve such consideration as Barton was showing him?

Bucky couldn’t figure out the answer to that and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Somehow, over the past however many days they’d shared the safehouse with each other, Barton had become Clint, and Bucky was unsure what to do with that either.

Clint – with his stories and his addiction to coffee, his tendency towards personal disasters – seriously, he was always tripping or spilling or doing something that could get himself hurt, _again_. How was this man still alive? - his spirits undampened despite the nightmares that Bucky was usually already awake for, but sometimes was woken by.

Bucky knew the few times he’d fallen asleep, he’d had nightmares, and that they’d woken Clint just the same, or worse, but Clint wouldn’t say. Bucky worried, each time, that a nightmare gone truly bad would wind up with Clint hurt more than he already was, but Clint seemed unconcerned and wouldn’t hear of Bucky not getting any rest.

The concern that Clint felt for him, a stranger - and a dangerous one at that - was mind-blowing.

It was a concern that Bucky felt in return. How Clint had crept so far under his skin, so fast, Bucky didn’t understand. He wondered if it was Steve’s fault. Would Bucky have been so ready, so _open_ , to another human being if Steve hadn’t broken through to him on the helicarrier?

Or was there something about Clint that just reached inside of Bucky and turned everything on its head, including the programming that should have had Bucky aiming towards the nearest HYDRA facility?

He swallowed, the thoughts swirling confusingly. Maybe it was both? Or, did it even really matter? He paced as he thought, a movement he normally restrained around Clint, afraid that Clint would read it as something more, something menacing. There were no clocks in the safehouse but Bucky didn’t need one, each second of time ticking relentlessly in his head as he waited for Clint to come back.

But hours went by and Clint hadn’t returned.

Thinking over the past weeks in the first real privacy he’d had since Clint had arrived had distracted him well enough to start, but eventually, Bucky had been unable to ignore the passage of time.

A trip for groceries shouldn’t be taking this long. Not even for Clint, right? Sure, the man was a disaster, but it never seemed like he was fatally so, and his wounds had healed more than well enough for a trip like this –

But he _did_ have wounds. From some _one_.

And he’d come to a safehouse for a reason.

Shit. What if Clint was in trouble and he’d let him go out there on his own? Bucky’s eyes fell upon Clint’s signature weapon – the bow. He’d left it behind. Reasonably, Bucky knew why. Small town, laying low. But realistically, he just _knew_ something had happened.

That feeling in his gut, all too familiar, prodded him.

He stomped back into the living room and grabbed his combat gear. Sure, it may have been provided by HYDRA, but it was still armor and he had no idea of the situation he might be walking into. He pulled it all on, thankful he’d spent time checking it over and fixing it, then strapped on more than a few knives and guns.

Guns might be noisy, but Clint had gone out without his long-range support and Bucky wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

They’d just hole up somewhere else if they had to.

He followed the main road to town, but kept to the trees. Even jogging lightly, it wasn’t long before Bucky found the wreck of a car. Clint’s car, he realized with fear almost freezing him, as well as two others. His heart in his throat, Bucky wanted nothing more than to rush forward and check for Clint but he had no idea who might also be out there. He stalked the perimeter, checking for movement.

Other than smoke, there was none.

But he saw a _lot_ of bodies.

Cautiously, Bucky moved forward, keeping an eye out for anything moving as he made his way to Clint’s wreck. He nearly sagged with relief when he found nothing inside the car. Stepping back away, he circled the wreck and checked each body he found.

None of them were Clint and they were all dead.

He allowed himself a moment to breathe before making another circuit around the wreck to find signs of where Clint would have gone, though the obvious answer was back to the safehouse. But since Bucky hadn’t found him on the way down the road, it was possible that Clint was injured, disorientated and might not be taking the straight way back.

Hell, a spy _wouldn’t_ take the straight way back. That was the smart way to do things and what Bucky would have done, so he was sure Clint would too. Backtracking and laying down false trails, making sure he wasn’t being followed back to the safehouse and to Bucky – all of that would take time and could account for why it was taking so long for Clint to return.

But if he _was_ injured, Clint might not _make_ it back.

The thought renewed a frantic search for clues as to Clint’s direction, and if he’d been less good at what he did, he might have missed it. Injured or not, Clint was also skilled. Bucky quickly turned to follow the traces he found deeper into woods and through thick brush and ducking branches. It was slow going and night was approaching far too swiftly for Bucky’s liking.

Finally, _finally_ , Bucky saw him, slumped – but still standing, thank god - against a tree, in sight of his goal.

“Jesus Christ, Clint. This is _not_ handling yourself,” Bucky said, rushing to Clint’s side with his heart pounding.  
  
“Still alive, ain't I?” Clint rasped out.  He pushed away from the tree, falling into Bucky’s arms and into what, Bucky sure as hell hoped, was safety.  
  
“Yeah, but you lost all our food. _Now_ what will we eat? I'm not a cannibal, despite any propaganda from HYDRA you might have heard,” Bucky said, desperately trying to make light of the situation so Clint couldn’t see how badly scared he was for him.

He probably shouldn’t have worried about that; Clint was struggling just to keep his eyes open. In fact, seconds later, Clint sagged into him and Bucky took all his weight as he guided him back to the safehouse. “Shit… shoulda took your bow.”

“Not very… incognito… to go to the…the store with a bow,” Clint grunted out. His feet dragged slightly though he did appear to be trying to help Bucky move him. Bucky didn’t attempt to take him further than the couch, ducking into the bathroom for their first aid kit and then coming back, turning all the lights on to better see with.

And he really didn’t like what he saw. Clint was covered in blood – _how much had he lost?_ – and he was fading fast, eyes closing, body going limp.

“No, no, no, Clint! Stay awake for me, okay doll?” Bucky fell to his knees beside him. All he wanted to do was curl up and cry, but Clint needed him.

“I’m… I’m trying. D-don’t think I… can,” Clint slurred. “Damn, but they… they got me good.”

“Keep talking, okay? Gotta stay awake,” Bucky urged him. “Who’s they?” he asked as he carefully stripped Clint down while he checked him over. Multiple gunshots in the shoulder, another in his thigh, bruising all over his face and those damn ribs – the way Clint was struggling to breath, Bucky was sure he’d re-injured those. Maybe broken a few this time.

There wouldn’t be much he could do for the ribs that already wasn’t done and nothing for Clint if he had a concussion except keep him awake. But he could at least tend to the bullet wounds. The ones in the shoulder had gone through so he started with those, trying to keep Clint talking but soon the archer had lapsed into silence and no amount of cajoling or careful shaking could wake him.

It was all too clear that Clint needed more help than Bucky could give, but where the hell was he going to find help either of them could trust that would get there in time?

Finishing what he could, Bucky stood to clean up, though he was reluctant to leave Clint alone even for a second, when his eyes fell on the charging phone.

Steve.

They could trust Steve.

Wiping his hands hastily, he picked up the phone, turning it on. As soon as it loaded, it vibrated in his hands as notification after notification poured in. He struggled to work around them and find Clint’s contact list – he had to have something for Steve, right? – but Bucky finally found it, listed under Captain Steve.

There was nobody else it could be.

Without the slightest hesitation, though his gut twisted horribly, Bucky pressed the call button.

Almost instantly it was answered.

“Clint! Where have you been? Are you all right?” Steve’s voice was easily recognizable, despite the odd quality the phone gave it. It tried to bring memories with it, but Clint didn’t have time for that. Bucky swallowed at the worry in Steve’s voice, knowing he was about to make it worse. Talking to Steve was the last thing he wanted to do, but for Clint’s sake…

“Steve,” he choked out.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was breathless, disbelieving and hopeful.

“Y-yeah.” Bucky glanced over at Clint’s prone form and clenched his metal hand into a fist at his side.

“Why do you have Clint’s phone?” Steve asked too softly. Bucky winced, closing his eyes, but he couldn’t keep them closed for long. He needed to keep an eye on Clint, despite that Bucky was unable to do anything more for him.

“He’s hurt. Bad. He – he needs help, Stevie. Please.” Every word was a fight, but for Clint… for the Avenger that didn’t even _think_ about befriending him…

“What happened? Did you - ?” Steve didn’t finish but Bucky knew what he meant and he flinched again, the metal plates in his hand creaking as his fist grew tighter.

“No! You gotta believe me, Stevie. It wasn’t me. We can… we can talk after, okay? I promise. No more hiding. But you gotta come get Clint, or, at least send someone closer who you can trust. He needs help… I – you need to hurry. He doesn’t look good.” Bucky finished the last on a whisper.

“Of course,” Steve said. “Where are you?”

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Bucky had had more than a few nightmares in the rare moments of sleep he’d gotten since he escaped HYDRA. Half formed memories of past deeds combining with fears of still being under HYDRA’s control or of killing Steve.

All too quickly, the nightmares had grown to include Clint, too. The much too trusting archer who’d given Bucky his second chance.

He’d spent _those_ nights staring at Clint as Clint slept, watching him breathe just to reassure himself that Clint wasn’t dead, that the Winter Soldier hadn’t made a reappearance.

And now here he was, having to put those nightmares to the test. Clint had been… well, Bucky hadn’t had any urges to attack or kill Clint since he’d shown up. Quite the opposite, really. But Steve –  _Captain America_  - had been his last programmed target.

What if it was still there, waiting?

Bucky paced in agonizing silence, glancing at Clint, then out the window. He’d done what he could, but Steve better get there fast, because he was sure Clint had internal injuries Bucky was in no way capable of taking care of.

He was still debating whether or not he should take off as soon as Steve arrived with help, despite his promise, when a strangely quiet roar shook the house to its foundations, the trees moving wildly as they bent and waved to the landing gusts of the jet.

It had barely opened its rear hatch when Steve launched out of it at a run, Stark hot on his heels.

Steeling himself, Bucky opened the door, though at least the sight of his best friend hadn’t seemed to trigger any homicidal programming.

However, when Steve came in for a hug, Bucky couldn’t help flinching back before stepping away, ignoring the hurt look on Steve’s face, and the suspicious glare on Starks. There was no mistaking that man for anyone else – the son of Howard Stark - even if HYDRA hadn’t made sure he knew who each and every Avenger was.

He waved them inside. “Clint’s in here. I… was afraid to move him further than I already have. He hasn’t woken since I called. Definitely significant blood loss before I found him, probably internal injuries on top of everything else.”

Leading the way, it was a few short steps from the door to the couch Clint lay near lifeless on. Stark pushed glasses onto his face and tapped the side. A hum reached Bucky’s ears and the glass glowed while Stark stared at Clint, slowly moving his gaze across Clint’s body. “Freeze pop’s right. Some broken ribs and a concussion. Possible wrist fracture or worse in addition to broken fingers, a few gunshot wounds and some other half healed shit and there’s definitely internal bleeding going on. We need to get him back to medical, stat. And we _definitely_ don’t want to risk moving him again. Good call.”

Stark tapped the glasses, pulled them off and tucked them into his jacket pocket, trading it for something else. Whatever it was, Tony flicked it into the air and kicked the table away from the couch to make room. It caused Bucky to flinch, all his reflexes on high alert.

The device folded out into a… a hover bed? His jaw nearly dropped, the image of a floating car that didn’t stay up skimming through his memories. He watched Steve and Stark carefully lift Clint to the floating bed and strap him down. Bucky had to strangle the whine at seeing that, had to remind himself that it was to keep Clint’s injuries from getting worse, that it did not make him a prisoner.

The floating bed was apparently easy enough to steer with just one person, and Stark pushed Clint through the house, Steve and Bucky following along. On their way to the door, Bucky picked up Clint's things. Packing had been yet one more attempt to keep his mind off his worry. It hadn't worked, but at least it meant he was ready when they got here.

“Ah, Buck, what's all that?" Steve asked, eyeing the duffle and Clint’s bow and quiver.

“It's Clint's gear."

“Right, and where's yours? Aren’t you coming with us?" Steve asked.

“ _Excuse me?"_  Stark almost froze, head spinning to pin them both with a glare.

Bucky ignored him, keeping his attention on Steve. _Naturally,_ Steve would just assume Bucky would go back with him, how else would they have their promised talk? And Steve was right, of course, but probably not for the reasons he thought. "I'm wearing it, Steve."

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Frosty isn't coming with us," Stark said, voice tight and very unhappy.

“I won't fight you, Stark, but I _am_ coming with you," Bucky said flatly.

“Tony, we talked about this," Steve said. "If he wants to come with us, I'm bringing him with us. And we don't exactly have time to argue about it."

“Fine," Stark said with another glare, coming to a stop just outside the jet. "But not without taking a few precautions."

"Agreed," Bucky said, watching Stark blink, obviously startled at Bucky’s easy acquiescence, but it only lasted a second before his face was back in that stony, impassive mask again with fury filling his eyes. He snapped something off of his hip –  _he’d come prepared_ , Bucky thought approvingly – and held them out.

“I built these to hold the Hulk, should contain you too,” he said, advancing on Bucky, a set of thick, high tech manacles in his hands. Every part of Bucky’s being cringed and screamed about willingly giving himself over as a prisoner once more, but one glance at Clint and his need to be there and  _know_ he was safe had Bucky holding out his hands after handing off Clint’s equipment to Steve, who took it reflexively.

“Is this really necessary?” Steve demanded.

“We don’t have time for this Steve.  _Clint_ doesn’t have time for this,” Bucky threw Steve’s words back at him and watched Steve deflate. “Do it, Stark,” he growled.

Stark paused, an eyebrow lifted, something moving in that brain of his that Bucky couldn’t catch before he gave a sharp nod and the manacles were swiftly locked into place.

Bucky stared down at them, equal parts fear and resignation rolling through him, but then Steve guided him forward, following Stark and Clint. They trooped up into the jet, Steve slapping the hatch to close behind him as Stark got Clint situated so he wouldn’t ricochet off the walls when the jet got moving, locking the hover bed in place.

And, apparently, Stark also had enough medical skill to apply an IV and some pain meds. Bucky stood there, watching Stark move around Clint with his heart in his throat until Steve pulled him to sit by Clint just as the jet finally started moving, Widow at the helm.

He knew Clint and Natasha were partners and close friends, and Bucky had to admire her ability to keep her cool when Clint was in danger, to fly the jet when all she wanted to do was check on him, if her backwards glances were anything to go by.

They were up in the air for several minutes before Steve finally voiced the questions Bucky knew was eating at him. "Buck, what were you _doing_ there?"

"It was an accident -”

"Does that look like an accident to you?!" Stark pointed angrily at Clint, where he lay all too still for Bucky’s liking.

"Tony!" Steve barked out. “Let him talk.”

Stark threw his hands up in the air and settled back, his arms coming to cross over his chest angrily.

"Not that. That wasn't me," Bucky said, looking at Steve, begging him to believe him. "After what happened, after we fought -”

"I didn’t blame you, Buck. You know that, right? You could have come back with me. We coulda fixed this together," Steve said gently.

"We don't know that.  _Didn’t_ know that," Bucky said. "I almost killed you and you almost let me. I had to get out of there. I don't even know who I _am_ anymore! Am I James Buchanan Barnes? Am I Bucky? Or am I what  _they_ made me? The Winter Soldier?" He shuddered, then slumped, anger draining away to despair.

"I couldn't take the risk. I couldn't be the one to hurt you again. I can't undo the things I’ve done. Hell, I don't even remember most of them though... Some of it has started coming back to me." He repressed another shudder.

He hated looking weak on the best of days, but in front of Steve who he’d always had to be strong for when things were rough, and in front of Stark who had every right to hate his guts, to want him dead – that was even worse. "I can't undo them, and I can't ask forgiveness but I'll be damned if I let any of it happen again. If I let  _them_ use me as a weapon even one more time, it’ll be one time too many."

He looked up at Stark, willing him to understand that _Bucky_ understood his anger. That it was justified. Stark simply glared back, either not getting it, or unwilling to get it, or he just didn't care, Bucky didn't know.

"So you ran," Steve said. It wasn't even a question.

Bucky sighed. "So I ran. And I hid. Than a day later, he," Bucky nodded at Clint, "Crashed into my hiding place. Turned out it was his. He was already hurt and I thought he'd kick me out but... he didn't."

"That sounds like Clint," Steve said.

“He’s gonna get himself killed some day,” Stark grumbled under his breath and the entire jet went quiet, as they thought through the fact that some day could, in fact, be today.

It was like cold water was poured over Bucky. What if he’d found Clint too late? What if it had taken too long to get him help? Unable to bear that tense silence any longer, needing to fill it and at least explain himself to Steve, he forced himself to keep going.

"He let me stay, and he treated me like I wasn’t even brainwashed. I was starting to feel almost  _normal_ again,” Bucky said in wonderment, shaking his head. “And if it makes you feel any better, he kept trying to convince me to go back with him, to the Avengers Tower."

"So what happened?"

"We needed supplies.” Bucky dropped his head into his hands. “God, I should never have let him go by himself. I should have known. There was a _reason_ he was in that safe house, and it wasn't me."

"Clint can take care of himself," Stark spit out. "Doesn't need you to 'let' him do anything."

Bucky looked up to glare at Stark, noting that Steve was looking pointedly from Stark to Clint and Stark deflated. “Well, normally, anyway."

“Everyone needs help sometimes,” Steve said. “No matter how good they are. And Bucky, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

Bucky shook his head. "I had a bad feeling. Like I did before HYDRA captured me the first time, and before... before the train." He clenched his fists together. "And the night your ma died. I had that same feeling again. Something bad was gonna happen and I _knew_ it. I shouldn't have ignored it but I knew he wouldn't listen."

Steve was staring at him in shock. “You never told me you – “

“Would  _you_ have listened?”

Stark snorted. “Hell no, he wouldn’t. Steve’s a stubborn jackass once his mind is made up.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Steve jibed back.

“You’re all stubborn assholes,” Widow tossed back. “Landing in five. Stark – “

“Already called ahead. Got a medteam on standby. Don’t worry, red, I’m on top of it.”

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

"Y'know, if I had my way, you'd be locked up," Stark said, his voice filled with false politeness.

Bucky looked up tiredly at Stark through his hair. They’d been there for hours and he’d had no word on Clint. Steve had talked Tony into taking the manacles off, but there were guards by the exits and a rotating crew of Avengers – here more for Clint then for Bucky, but they all eyed him warily, some thoughtfully. Bucky didn't say anything to them, and he didn’t say anything to Tony now. There really wasn't anything to say to a man whose father you had killed.

"Jesus, you're like a lost puppy dog. You're as bad as Roger's." He thrust out his hand from which a steaming cup was being held. He waited a few beats, then shook it. "Take it, before I change my mind."

Slowly, Bucky reached out and took the olive branch Stark was offering him, tensing slightly as Stark sat beside him. They were quiet a long, long moment that stretched into two, then five. Finally, after searching for something to say, Bucky blurted out with,

“Knew you were rich, but I still can’t believe you got your own medical wing in your own goddamn tower.”

“Yeah, well, coming in handy now, isn’t it?” Stark said. “Besides, after Steve took down SHIELD to get to HYDRA, the usual medical base we used was decimated and normal hospitals just aren’t equipped to deal with some of the stuff we get. Guess it was a good thing I had one already on hand when Steve took out the trash.” Stark sipped at his own cup of coffee while Bucky just turned his around and around in his hands, his eyes going to the door behind which Clint was sequestered. “Gotta say, our boy doesn't do things by halves.”

Bucky snorted. This was one thing he knew he could agree with Stark on. “He never did, even before the serum.”

“Look, I’ll be honest with you, Barnes,” Stark said abruptly. “I'm angry. There's no getting around that. But Steve makes a compelling point. If I can't blame Clint for the shit that went down in New York, then I can't blame you either. You're a victim, same as him.”

Bucky looked at him in surprise. It was all he could do not to stare at Stark with his mouth hanging open. This was the last thing he’d expected of Stark.

‘’A victim with a ton of collateral damage, like my dad, and that whole shitshow was complicated even before you came into the picture but, well... He was still my dad. And it's gonna take me a long time to stop being angry. I'm not sure I can do that. But for Steve’s sake, I'll try. Cause as much as I hate to admit he's right... Well, he's right.”

He stood abruptly while Bucky just stared. There was, once again, simply nothing he could say. But… it was an offer of peace, a glimmer of hope. And it was all because of a chance encounter with Clint.

Bucky swallowed and nodded solemnly at Stark, with a gruff, ‘ _thank you,_ ’ pushing past his lips. Stark nodded back and strolled away down the hall to the nurses’ station.

Guess there _was_ something he could say after all.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

"Hey Buck, " Steve paused in the act of handing over a steaming Styrofoam cup, another held back in his hand, as he realized Bucky already had one and obviously wondering how he’d even gotten his hands on one when Bucky had refused to leave Clint long enough for anything, including more than a few doctors who wanted to get their hands on him. 

"Stark."

"Really?" Steve asks with a hum, sitting down beside him. Bucky took pity on him and finished the coffee and tossing the empty in the waste basket across the hall. 

"Olive Branch," he said, reaching out for the other cup.

Steve broke into a huge, relieved grin. "Great! That's great!"

Bucky paused and stared at Steve with narrowed eyes, making Steve squirm. _Aha!_ "Boy, you are really gone on him aren't ya pal?"

"What? No! I-" Steve spluttered, nudging Bucky in the shoulder. His metal arm, like it didn't even matter. Like Bucky was normal. "Shut up."

Bucky nudged back. “You make a move yet?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. Never been the right time and… I just, I don’t know. Don’t see why he would be interested in me anyway.”

Bucky nudged him harder this time, possibly closer to a shove. “Stop being so fatalistic you damn punk. Where’s that Steve Rogers optimism, that Captain America confidence? That damn stubbornness of yours that got us into more fights than I could handle?” Bucky shook his head. “If anyone deserves happiness it’s you. And if Stark can’t see what a great guy you are, then that’s his problem. But don’t wait, Stevie… Don’t let your life get lost with might have beens.”

"Maybe…” Steve said, shaking his head. “So... You and Clint..."

Bucky shook his head. "It's not the same thing. Besides, we barely know each other."

"You ran from me, but you came back for him. You're here and you won't leave his side. It's gotta mean _something_."

"Maybe, but it doesn't matter. He deserves better than some broken man who doesn't even know who he is," Bucky said quietly. "Besides, just because I might, don't mean he’s dumb enough to return those feelings."

Steve grinned back at him, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I don’t know. He’s a genius in his field but he can be pretty dumb when he wants to be.”

Bucky snorted. “Sounds like another blonde I know.”

Steve guffawed, the sound echoing strangely in the otherwise quiet corridor, people turning to glare at him for disturbing the peace. The laugh eased something in Bucky, like there was something sliding back into place, another piece of himself reclaimed from HYDRA.

The door to Clint’s room opened and Bucky shot straight up in his seat, though he did, at least, remain sitting.  His eyes homed in on the sound, finding Natasha standing in the entryway, her arms crossed as she stared at Bucky.

Not Steve.

Bucky.

He held back the chill that wanted to run down his spine. She looked familiar to him, and not because not long ago they’d been fighting, or because he’d read up on her in a HYDRA file. There was something else. Had their paths crossed before? She wasn’t treating him with fear or pity or anger. She wasn’t, in fact, giving  _anything_ away.

“How is he?” Bucky asked when she simply continued to stare rather than offer anything up about Clint.

“Tony’s right. You  _do_ look like a little lost puppy dog. No wonder Clint’s latched on to you,” she said, ignoring his question completely.

Bucky flinched a bit – he’d wonder how  _she_ knew Starks words from earlier when she hadn’t even been out there with them, but she  _was_ a spy, after all.  It was a moot point.

“Not a lost puppy dog,” he muttered. Certainly, he wasn’t as harmless as such words made him out to be.

_“Natasha_ ,” Steve chided.

She waved him off.

“You know, I’ve known Clint a long time. He has three priorities in his life when he’s laid up like this and he’s just woken up: Coffee, his dog, and getting the hell out of here before he’s been cleared. Not even his hearing aids top the list. They just become a means to an end. This time, though, somethings different.”

“How do you mean?” Steve asked. He had relaxed beside Bucky and Bucky had to assume that meant Clint was okay. At least, out of danger. Else, Natasha wouldn’t be talking like this, right?

“This time, he woke up and the poor deluded sap asked for Bucky first thing.”

Bucky blinked at that. “That… that can’t be right.”

“He wants to see you for himself, so I suggest you go in. But Barnes – he  _is_ my best friend. Don’t cross him, and you won’t cross me,” Natasha said, finally stepping out of the doorway as Bucky slowly stood up. “And that includes being honest with yourself and him.”

He walked over to her, pondering what that meant, and then paused before the door to ask the other nagging thing in his head.

“Do I know you? I mean… other than our recent encounter. I keep feeling like I should be able to place you. Its… unsettling.”

“Don’t worry about it for now, Barnes. If you don’t remember, it doesn’t matter, and if you do, we’ll talk. Promise,” she said, her words sincere and Bucky gave her a solemn nod. “Now get in there before the idiot tries to get out of bed and look for you himself.”

Bucky startled, pushing forwards towards the door, fearful that Clint might just do that. He hadn’t known the man long, but it seemed the sort of thing he would do. His concern for his own health didn’t seem to merit much to the archer.

_The man needs a keeper_ , was a thought that rose unbidden in his mind and he froze when he reached the door and looked inside. Clint looked better than he had the last time Bucky had laid eyes on him. There was color in his cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier, and the rise and fall of his chest was steadier too.

_Clint can take care of himself,_ Bucky reminded himself. He doesn’t, nor would he appreciate, any implications that he needed a ‘keeper’. Tony had been quick enough to set Bucky straight on that in the jet, though Bucky had already known it. Yet… as much as Clint was good at what he did – and Bucky knew that because the Winter Soldier had known that because Clint was a potential rival and even a target if he ever got in the way – he was also a disaster.

A mass of contradictions that had Bucky’s gut swirling oddly.

He swallowed and knocked lightly on the open doorframe, watching as Clint opened his eyes and his whole face lit up into a beaming smile that crinkled around his eyes.

The odd feeling in Bucky’s gut turned into a swoop in his stomach and the sinking realization that he was absolutely, irrevocably, screwed.


	3. Clint's POV - The Great Escape

 

Clint woke in that weird floaty sense between pain and no pain – the kind that comes with meds. The good ones. Which meant he was injured. Probably fairly badly.

_Again._

_Oh, wonderful_ , he thought, blinking his eyes open. He tried to move his head and winced. He probably groaned too, not that he could hear, but the vibrations rattled his chest and pulled on stitches – it was a distinct feeling, the pull of skin being held together like that - causing another wince. Aww, injuries, no…

Nearly immediately, Natasha was hovering above him, a very expressive combination of stern and relieved and ‘ _what the fuck were you thinking_ ’ pinning him in place.

That was, if his injuries weren’t already doing so, which they really kinda were.

“Hey, Nat… how are ya?” he tried to grin at her brightly but the smile tugged on too many sore muscles to last and he let it drop.

_You’re an idiot_ , she signed.  _As soon as you were compromised, you should have come home._

And that’s when he remembered.

The safehouse. Bucky. He’d been attacked. Had they tracked him back to the safehouse? Was Bucky all right? Had he put Bucky in danger or… wait, had Bucky come after him? He couldn’t quite remember. A vague memory of seeing Bucky at some point surfaced but then it slipped away again almost instantly, leaving him with no answers.

He struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain, looking around but only Natasha was there. “Bucky?” he croaked. “Where’s – is he all right? We were attacked –!”

_Clint!_  She gestured sharply, then pushed him back to the bed with a long-suffering glare.  _Stay put or you’ll aggravate your injuries._  She turned around and when she turned back, she had his hearing aids in her hands and she held them out. He nodded and she helped place them in.

She started talking the second they were turned on, the familiar sounds of beeping monitors reminding him why he usually didn’t wear them when he was stuck recovering and hadn’t yet made his escape to the peace and quiet of his own place.

“You’re in medical, _again,_ with broken bones, a concussion, a few bumps and scratches – stitches of course - and you needed surgery.” Her lips twisted into a not that amused grin. “I _think_ I can tell you were attacked. Though I suppose, knowing you, you could have had the most unholy luck I’ve ever seen doing something simple, like taking a shower.”

Clint stared up at her, hoping his expression showed her exactly how offended he was by that statement.

She ignored it, but she _did_ finally deign to answer his question, so he’d take it.

"Don’t worry, Bucky’s  _fine_. Which is more than can be said for you. You can thank him for being here, by the way. He called Steve and of course, we came to the rescue.”

“I’m not a princess.” Clint groused.

“I don’t know,” she mused. “You’d look good in a dress.”

“Only if it’s purple.”

Natasha got a mad glint in her eye and Clint flinched, willing to blame it on the pain. He’d just put some fool idea in her head and he was afraid to find out what. Knowing Nat, she’d lay in wait for a while before springing it on him. She was patient like that.

 “Well, if he’s not hurt and he’s in the building, then where is he?” _Please don’t let Tony have locked him up. Bucky didn’t deserve that._

“You really want to see him that much?” Nat smirked. “Missing your boyfriend, hmmm?”

Clint leveled Nat a look. It didn’t faze her but she did roll her eyes.

“Okay, fine. I’ll stop teasing – until you’re aware enough to fight back.”

“I’m perfectly aware,” he muttered.

She patted his arm. “Sure thing, Clint.”

He closed his eyes for a minute, a wave of exhaustion hitting him. He wouldn’t be awake long, he knew, he just hoped he got to see for himself that Bucky was all right before he slipped back under again.

A noise by the door, metal on wood, had him dragging his eyes back open to find Nat had left and Bucky was now standing uncertainly in the doorway. He looked as exhausted as Clint felt and his usual black clothes looked somewhat rumpled, but his eyes were glued to Clint, relief filling them.

Aww… Bucky’d been worried about him. That made twice now. If you didn’t count the nightmares that woke Bucky up. Or maybe didn’t. Clint wasn’t sure how much sleep Bucky got anyway. He suspected it wasn’t much, but that didn’t matter right now, because right now, Bucky was staring at him oddly, probably waiting to see if Clint kicked him out of the room or not.

Clint was very decidedly against doing that, as a matter of fact.

“Bucky! You’re here!” Clint croaked out happily. “You did it - I’m so proud of you!”

“Did what?” he looked at Clint blankly.

Clint waved his uninjured arm about. “Y’know. You came to the Avengers Tower with me. You’ve seen Steve – you  _have_ seen Steve, right?”

Bucky nodded.

“Well, then. That. _That’s_ what I’m talking about.” His lips tugged into a painful smile he couldn’t let go of. He was just so happy to see Bucky there, safe and sound.

“Don’t you think this was all a little extreme to get me here?” Bucky asked him. If Clint wasn’t too doped up to be able to tell the difference, he could swear he saw the twitch of a smile on Bucky’s face.

“Now that you mention it…”

Bucky shot him a glance that had him chuckling and then groaning. “Oh man,” Clint sighed, rubbing at his ribs. “So, ready to bust me outta here?”

“Seriously?” Bucky blinked. “I thought Natasha was  _joking_ about that!”

“What? I’m  _fine!_ ” Clint protested. He knew he was not, in fact, fine. But he hated being there. He gave Bucky his best puppy dog eyes, but Bucky wasn’t backing down. He sighed again. “Fine. But I draw the line at forgoing coffee!”

Looking at him suspiciously, Bucky nodded. “I think I can arrange to have some coffee snuck in here, if it hasn’t been already.”

“Oh, thank god!” Clint sagged back into the bed. “See! I  _told_  you you weren’t a monster.”

He winced almost as soon as he said the words. Damn those pain killers anyway, making him all foggy and apparently loose lipped. Good thing he had no secrets from Barnes, right? Right.

“Right, cause that’s the monster criteria right there,” Bucky said dryly and Clint relaxed again when Bucky didn’t take offense. But he also changed the topic really fast. Or maybe Clint had zoned out. Painkillers. Completely possible.

“So… How long has Stevie been pining after Stark?”

“Oh my god! You see it too, right? Right?” Clint blinked at him. “They’re impossible. Both of them. Idiots. It’s not just Steve. Once you get to know Tony a little better, you’ll see he’s pining too. And I thought  _I_ was hopeless.”

“What, you’re pining after someone too?” Bucky asked, his voice gruff.

“Nah. Not for a while now. And my last relationship…” Clint closed his eyes, feeling his chest tightening at the memories. He hadn’t killed Coulson personally but… he was responsible none the less.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky was suddenly a lot closer than Clint remembered, a hand briefly touching his uninjured shoulder.

“Yeah,” Clint said, clearing his throat. “Just… it didn’t end well.” And boy was _that_ the understatement of the year, but it wasn’t something he wanted to get into now, though if anyone would understand what he’d gone through, it’d be Bucky for sure.

There was a knock on the door, breaking the new tension – a weird tension that Clint could swear hadn’t even been around even those first days in the safehouse - and Natasha poked her head in. “I bring coffee – if you promise not to make any escape attempts.”

“Oh, Nat, you’re a godsend. Gimme, gimme gimme!” Clint lit up and stared at the coffee longingly, stretching out the arm he could move and wiggling his fingers enticingly.

Bucky snorted, but moved aside to make room for Natasha. “You have an addiction.”

Clint grabbed the cup from Nat and inhaled it happily, his eyes closing briefly. “Hmmmm… and so what if I do? There are worse things,” he said, taking a sip.

“S’pose so,” Bucky conceded.

The door opened again and a doctor came in, followed by Steve. Gosh, he was popular today.

Steve grinned at Clint. “Clint! It’s good to see you awake! I’m gonna borrow Buck here for a bit, let you get some rest, all right pal?”

Clint glanced between Bucky, who’d gone stiff as a board and Steve who was looking at Bucky hopefully. Whatever passed between them, Bucky’s shoulders sagged slightly – Clint wasn’t sure many people would have caught it, it was that minute, but he’d been studying Bucky fairly closely for over a few weeks now and Steve probably knew him better than anyone (aside from all the Winter Soldier shit) – and he nodded. Looking back at Clint, he opened his mouth, then closed it again. He gave a short nod and then followed Steve out the door.

The doctor, surprisingly, followed  _them_ out. Clint blinked at that. Well, that was new.

Natasha shook her head, staring after Steve and Bucky. “I have to say, I’ve seen more emotion on that man’s face in the last five minutes than I did the entire time he trained us back at the Red Room.”

“Does he remember?” Clint asked carefully.

“No. Or maybe, not _yet_ , as he did sort of recognize me.” _She_ didn’t sound concerned but Clint found _he_ was.

“Will that be a problem?” he asked, while gulping down the coffee. Ah, the ambrosia of the Gods. And not that stuff Thor kept bringing in from Asgard. Seriously.

“I don’t think so.” Nat shrugged.

He finished the coffee with a happy sigh, though it did nothing to counteract how tired he was. He let himself drift then, still floaty from the painkillers, and that’s when Nat struck.

“So,” Nat drew out the word, rescuing the now empty Styrofoam cup and tossing it into the trash. “The Winter Soldier?”

“You gonna judge me on that?” he eyed her.

“Me? Judge you for picking up strays? I was one of those once, if you recall,” she rolled her eyes fondly.

Clint snorted. “I may be on the good stuff, but how could I forget?”

“You sure about him?”

“As sure as I was about you – maybe more.”

“Okay, then,” she said. “I’ll back your play. If anyone gives you static about adopting an assassin, I’ll tell them they have to go through me first.”

“Thanks Nat,” Clint said gratefully. “So, what was up with that doc? Why’d he come in and leave? He didn’t even check on me.”

She raised a perfectly immaculate eyebrow. “Why, did you _want_ him to?”

“Hell no! I just don’t normally get a say in the matter.”

“He wasn’t here for you. He was here for Barnes.”

Clint struggled to sit up, panic flowing through him. _Wait, what?_ “Was he hurt?”

He ran the short interaction through his head. Bucky had seemed all right to Clint. Maybe a little tense, but then, coming to the one place you kept saying you weren’t going to go to had to be messing with him, right? As he flipped through scenario after scenario for why a doctor wanted a closer look at Bucky, the beeping monitor sped up and she sighed.

“No, idiot,” she said. “I already told you. Now, hackles down.”

“My hackles aren’t up,” he growled.

“Right,” she said. Natasha clearly didn’t believe him. “They just want to check him out, okay? If he’s sticking around, they need a baseline. That’s procedure, and you know it. Secondly, they want to check on his brainwashing. You know that’s not the sort of thing that goes away overnight.”

Clint stared at her.  “That what everyone thinks about me?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Clint, no,” Nat said softly. He looked away, not wanting to see any pity in his best friends’ eyes. She sighed yet again. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. In fact, like, a whole hell of a lot more than she used to. Crap. It was definitely pity for poor stupid Barton, no matter what she said. “He’s got 70 years of conditioning to fight. You were under for 3 days and just needed a good solid smack to the head. But that’s normal for you.”

He knew she was trying to make light, to make him laugh, but he so wasn’t in the mood for it. Nat, of course, knew him well enough to know it. She took his hand and squeezed it lightly before brushing some hair away from his face, her eyes gentle in a way he never saw her look at anyone else.

“What happened to both of you is horrible, no doubt,” she said softly. “But Clint, he _agreed_ with us. We didn’t force this on him.”

Clint sagged back into the bed, the exhaustion barreling down on him like a freight train, fast and hard. “Don’t take his choices away from him, Nat.”

She placed a hand on his head, carefully stroking his hair while she smiled at him. The smile was small and filled with something Clint was just too fucking tired to catch. His eyes drooped without his permission.

“Get some rest, Clint. I’ll watch over you, as usual. As you would me if the tables were turned.”

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

The next time Clint woke, the room was once more silent – Nat must have taken out his ears which, good, he hated sleeping with those in - and an even more ragged looking Bucky – if it were at all possible - was slumped in the seat Natasha usually took up, Nat nowhere in sight.

“Bucky, you okay?”

Bucky’s head slid off his fist and came up startlingly fast.

“Clint! You’re awake,” he said, a small smile somehow managing to light up both his face and the room. _Awwww, Nat, noooo…_ why’d he have to go and get a crush on Bucky?

Yawning, Clint nodded. “Or something. Still feelin’ a little foggy. But you look like shit. What’s goin’ on?”

That startled a rare laugh out of Bucky, something Clint didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing and sincerely wishing he could hear it currently. Just seeing Bucky laugh was doing more to warm him then his blankets seemed to be. He wasn’t going to examine that. At least right now. Denial was his middle name.

Or, well, Francis. But he was in denial about that too.

He stared at Bucky, smiling loopily right on back. His concern eased off a bit as Bucky laughed. Things can’t be too bad if he was laughing, right?

Clint yawned again. “So, how long have I been out?”

“Too long,” Bucky said almost immediately, the smile dimming some. _Awwww… no… smile come back…_ “Don’t think you should be attempting any escapes any time soon.”

“Eh,” Clint shrugged. “I’ve had worse and still made it outta here. I heal up better when there aren’t a million doctors fussing over me.”

Bucky scowled. “That’s not healthy, Clint.”

“You’ve seen me eat. Does it look like I’m concerned with healthy?” Clint joked.

“You sc----,” Bucky said, turning his head away, ducking down, his hair coming up to cover his mouth and Clint strained to figure out what the hell he was saying.

“What? Can’t hear you,” Clint reminded him. “Either find me my ears, sign, or face me.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped but he turned back around, signing and speaking at the same time.

“I said, you scared the shit out of me,” he repeated.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. This is normal. I may not be a super whatever like most of the team, but I always seem to recover faster than expected,” Clint said with a shrug. More like he pushed it harder to seem like he did but… close enough, right?

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better,” Bucky said, his mouth twisting wryly.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding the question,” Clint said. “I may be on the good stuff, but I’m not _that_ out of it.”

Bucky sighed and ran a hand back through his hair, clearing the curtain away. “Nothing. I’m just tired of doctors and of being poked and prodded but… I’m also tired of living in fear of the things I could do – _have_ done – if I’m… if I get triggered again. Starks helping with that.”

“That’s good,” Clint said, smiling at Bucky. “That’s really good. See? It was a great idea to come here.”

“Okay, I’ll admit you were right,” Bucky started. Clint wanted to crow but he managed to hold back on that. Well, the ‘it hurts just to breathe’ helped with that but still… “but… I swear to god, if you pull a stunt like this again just to prove me wrong…”

“You wound me, Barnes,” Clint covered his heart with his uninjured hand. “To think I’d have to stoop to such low tactics – what kind of a spy do you think I am?”

Bucky shook his head at Clint in disbelief – chuckling, if the crinkles around his eyes were any good indicator, and Clint thought they were. It was a good look on Bucky and it was just dawning on Clint that now they were back at the Tower, there really was no good reason for the two of them to interact as much as they had.

He was going to miss that.

A lot.

_Fuck._

Nat was right. But there was no way he was telling her that. He’d never live it down.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Surprisingly, Bucky stuck around. Nearly every time Clint woke up, he was there. And when he wasn’t, Nat was there with a knowing look in her eyes and a suppressed smile.

Clint refused to acknowledge it.

Other Avengers stopped in, of course, when they had time.

Steve came by about halfway through Clint’s second full day of being a wake (he had no idea how long he’d _actually_ been there, so in and out of it that he’d lost all track), standing awkwardly at his bedside. “You’re looking better.”

“I feel _great,”_ Clint said, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically because Steve snorted, obviously not believing him. Clint eyed Steve curiously. There was just as obviously something on his mind.

“I just wanted to thank you, for everything with Bucky. For being there for him… it’s helped more than you know.”

Clint shrugged. “I didn’t really do much.”

“Yeah,” Steve shook his head. “You really did. And I appreciate it. I appreciate you, Clint. I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re kinda the heart of this team. So heal up, we miss having you around.”

Clint’s brow furrowed a bit as he puzzled that out. “What are you talking about? _You’re_ the heart of the team, Cap.”

Steve shook his head and looked back at Clint so earnestly it made him swallow a bit uncomfortably. “No, _you_ are. This place isn’t the same when you’re gone and you had more than a few folks worried about you. I don’t think you realize just how much you mean to this team, to all of us.”

“So… this would really be a bad time to mention that I was thinking of retiring?”

Jerking back in shock, Steve stared at Clint, his mouth gaping like a fish. Honestly, if Clint wasn’t feeling suddenly so shitty, it would have been amusing to watch.

“Why? Clint, you do so much good – “

“Steve,” Clint cut in. “You really need to ask why? I’m not a super soldier, or a god, or a tech genius that can make anything they could _possibly_ need, or even a mild-mannered scientist with, uh, hidden depths. I’m just a guy. A perfectly normal guy with a few defects.” He gestured at his ears, the physical embodiment of those ‘defects’, though he wasn’t currently wearing his aids. He did well enough without them, most days.

“You’re not normal!” Steve declared before briefly covering his face with his hand. “Okay, that came out wrong. But my point stands – you’re special too. Maybe not in the same ways, but that doesn’t make you less. What I’m trying to say is, we’re _all_ different, even from each other. I’m not a ‘mild-mannered scientist’ or a ‘tech genius’ either, to use your words. But I also could never do the things you do, with the absolute, unparalleled precision and flexibility you have. I’m more blunt force. You _see_ things that we miss. And that’s just _during_ a mission. Off mission –“

“Off mission, I’m a disaster,” Clint said darkly.

“You’re really not,” Steve insisted.

Clint sighed and turned his head away, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation anymore.

He needed to get out of this room, where everyone could find him at their slightest whims.

Closing his eyes, Clint ignored Steve until he left, the soft current of air as the door opened and shut Clint’s only clue that he’d finally given up and gone. If Steve had kept talking, if he’d tried to convince Clint he was wrong, well, it just showed how good a guy Steve was. He really did have his heart in the right place.

He was just dead wrong about this.

Clint pretended to sleep throughout the rest of his visits. He didn’t even open his eyes to see who was there, but his nose more than made up for it. Tony and his expensive cologne. Sam and that damn old spice. Various nurses with sneeze inducing perfumes. Jesus, was that even allowed?

Bucky, with a leather and metallic scent that hid the natural one Clint had gotten to know when they shared that bed.

And fuck, he was _really_ starting to miss that. Bucky’s attention was the hardest to deny, but when Clint set his mind to something, well, Barton’s were nothing if not stubborn.

He just hoped Bucky wasn’t feeling hurt that Clint was ignoring him. Oh, who was he kidding? Clint was practically nobody to him, while Steve – Steve had been his best friend. Steve had been the one that broke him out of his conditioning. And now that Bucky knew that Steve was in no danger from Bucky, well, what was to hold either of them back from reconnecting?

Clint may be feeling a little bit sorry for himself, but he also couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. Eventually, Bucky left and Clint’s eyes burned against his closed lids.

Nat visited him last and she stayed the longest. He knew that _she_ knew he was faking it, but he didn’t care.

When she left, even the visits from the doctors and nurses began to slow down – which was absolute overkill, he was _fine_ \- and Clint got ready to make his move.

He hadn’t been lying when he told Bucky he’d walked away when he was worse off. At least he still had the use of his legs. Sure, they were still a bit banged up from his previous injuries, and yeah, there’d been that gunshot wound to his thigh, but not anything he couldn’t walk on if he had to.

And this? He had to. It might hurt, but he needed space and as long as he stayed here, no one was gonna give him that.

Easing himself up on the bed, Clint looked around, confirming he was alone. Swinging his legs over the side, he snapped up his aides and put them in. If he was gonna sneak outta here, he might as well use all his sense for this.

With the blankets pushed aside and his legs dangling off the side of the bed, he could feel the cool breeze and he looked down with a sigh.

Damn hospital gowns – and this wasn’t even a real hospital! He needed clothes. _Real_ clothes.

Of course, if they were smart, they hadn’t left any. He did have a reputation, after all. Then again, that might actually be against the Geneva convention, or something. So, if there were clothes here, where would they – _ah! Gotcha_.

He pulled off all his sensors (thank god, no more catheter), carefully tugged the IV out and quickly repurposed some of the tape to cover the oozing blood. It was no Band-Aid but Clint was a master of repurposing things when he had to. He cocked his head for a second, but heard no alarms which – that was sort of alarming in and of itself. He’d have to work quick.

Clint got to his feet and limped over to the closet in the corner and opened it and yup, sure enough, neatly folded on the shelf was a pair of jeans and a tee. No socks or shoes or jacket of course. They were gonna make him work for this, apparently.

That was fine.

He pulled on the clothes carefully, wincing as he raised his arms, fumbling with splinted fingers, but eventually Clint managed to discard the awfully embarrassing and breezy hospital gown. He sighed out as his clothes settled around him comfortably and then limped over to the door.

His hand had barely touched the handle when he was interrupted.

“Sir, if I may inquire as to where you’re going?”

He leaned his head against the door. Fuck. He’d forgotten about that. No privacy in a Stark building.

“No, you may not JARVIS,” he grunted.

“If you need anything, I can – “ the voice was coming from by the door, which was a good sign. Despite JARVIS being part of the building, there were certain places he was denied access for privacy reasons. Clint knew that was why the AI hadn’t said anything until he was about to leave. He hadn’t been monitoring the room, he’d been monitoring the door.

Thank god for small favors.

“What I _need_ is space,” he said blandly. Getting angry with the AI wouldn’t do any good, so it would be best to conserve energy. “So I’m leaving and you’re not telling anyone, all right?”

“As you wish, but I do not believe it’s wise to leave while you’re still recovering – “

“I’m fine,” Clint insisted, turning the knob and cracking the door open so he could take in what he had to deal with.

An empty corridor, the nurses station currently unoccupied. Clint’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was too easy.

Then again, these guys were just civilians, right? Employees of Stark and all that – oh, who was he kidding, Tony never hired anyone average.

So where was the catch?

He inched the door open wider and slid into the hall cautiously, the lack of shoes making his footfalls quiet, at least, as he padded towards the beckoning, _unguarded_ door.

Opening the door, he was surprised to find the other hall just as empty but he wasted no time in sliding through and making his way to the elevators.

No way was he attempting stairs like this. He wasn’t _that_ dumb.

Clint made it to the rooms Tony had given him after the battle of New York – they’d barely been touched, so he hoped nobody thought to look there first - but the effort of getting there had already exhausted him and his limp had become more pronounced the further he’d walked.

And, well, at least they were _his_ rooms. No one barging in without asking even if they _did_ figure out where he went. Except Nat. She’d absolutely barge in, but that was different.

He almost threw himself down on the bed, but thought better of it at the last second, stripping down to his boxers (aides included) and pulling the sheet down, dragging the blankets along with. He hissed as he carefully eased himself under the cool covers as the movements aggravated his ribs and various stitches, inwardly chuckling about how he’d spent all day pretending to sleep just so he could go to bed.

It wasn’t nearly as restful as he’d have liked. He hadn’t taken the meds with him – no way he could have unless he wanted to try raiding their supplies, and that had seemed riskier than it was worth, he could deal with a little pain - but it was still so much more satisfactory to be healing on his own terms that he dealt with it, spending the night in a fitful sleep.

When morning came, he opened his eyes blearily to note that there were now pill bottles on the table beside his bed.

_God bless Nat_ , he thought, pushing himself up with a grunt.

He didn’t bother with his aides – he wasn’t planning on entertaining anyway – simply popping his meds and swallowing them down with the bottle that was left beside them. Then he stood and made his way to his small kitchenette – each set of rooms provided by Tony had them, though all the rooms were gathered around a larger, communal area that had a state-of-the-art kitchen provided. It wasn’t big, or fancy – though loads better than his apartment in Bed-stuy – but it was good enough for coffee, cereal and loads of take out.

Right now, coffee was the number one priority.

He leaned against the counter while he was waiting and then wandered the rooms with mug in hand when it was ready, pondering what he wanted to do next.

Clint wanted out of here – but was that really the best idea right now?

With HYDRA, and therefore SHIELD exposed, all his covers and safe houses were blown and he’d made more than his fair share of enemies out there. Going to ground at his own place wasn’t a good idea either – it’d put his neighbors in danger.

Though there was _one_ place he was relatively certain would be good to go to ground at.

He ignored the part of him that said the real reason he didn’t want to leave was Bucky. He ignored it, because that was just crazy talk.

Right?

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

It was weird.

Normally, he didn’t mind being alone. Kinda went with the territory, actually. Or at least, he was used to it. At any rate, he kept himself plenty occupied, or he slept, or played with Lucky.

But today he was restless, not even Dog Cops holding his attention, and Lucky was off with Kate, wherever she currently was.

It was his growling stomach that eventually drove him out into the common room, not even bothering to find his aides (he knew exactly where they were, he just didn’t want them right now because that would only encourage people to interact with him) – at least that’s what he told himself. Not his increasing urge for some sort of human contact.

He’d lasted two days, ignoring the flashing lights that said he had a visitor, but his pantry hadn’t been as well stocked as he liked and ordering take out would have meant dealing with strangers and he just absolutely did not have the mind space for that right now.

So common room it was.

It hadn’t been an excuse to see who was actually around.

Tenser than he expected to be, Clint entered the common area on bare feet. And exhaled roughly when he found nobody there. He shouldn’t be surprised. It was what he wanted, right? For everyone to give him space?

So why the hell was he so… disappointed?

There were actually only four sets of rooms around the common area. Steve – which Bucky was probably staying in – Clint’s, of course and Natasha too (though she used them barely more than he did) and Bruce.

Actually, Clint wasn’t sure if Bruce ever used his or not.

Thor didn’t because he wasn’t there often enough and Tony didn’t because, well, it was his tower. He had whole _floors_ that were his. Plus, other residences elsewhere.

Didn’t stop Tony from stopping in in his pajamas, though.

Clint found meatballs in the fridge and hoagies in the cabinet and smiled. He quickly prepped and warmed up a meatball sub and was halfway through when the elevator opened and that Sam fellow came out.

What was _he_ doing here?

Come to think of it – why had he visited Clint specifically?

Dammit, was Fury _still_ trying to get Clint to talk about New York? You’d think he’d have given up on Clint as a lost cause by now. Frowning, Clint took a generous bite of the sub, hoping to avoid talking to Sam Wilson.

Bad move.

Not talking to Sam didn’t stop Sam from talking to him. He was tempted to ignore him completely, but Sam thankfully didn’t bring up any taboo topics – like New York, Loki or the fact that Clint should still be in medical.

“That any good?” Clint read on Sam’s lips.

Instead of answering, Clint just nodded.

“You mind if I -?” Sam gestured at the sub, then the fridge and Clint shrugged, swallowed and said,

“Knock yourself out.”

“No thanks, got enough bad guys out there trying to do just that. Especially if I hang around Steve too long.”

They dropped the talking to eat, which Clint was more than happy to do, until Clint moaned around the sandwich and happened to open his eyes and look up to see Sam looking at him thoughtfully.

“What?” Clint demanded around his meatballs.

Sam didn't answer right away. He finished chewing and swallowed before talking which, considerate, actually. Clint would have had no idea what he said otherwise. He hadn’t known _Sam_ would know that.

Oh, it was probably in his file. Or maybe he didn’t know and he was just more polite than Clint. That could be it too.

“You eat with gusto, my friend. It's good to see.”

Clint grunted around his sandwich. When it was gone, he finally gave in. “Ok. No offense, but shouldn't you be in DC? What are you doing here?”

“I was, till Steve and Natasha showed up on my front door as wanted fugitives. And I’m _still_ here because Steve needed my help. Don’t think he’s the only one, either.”

Clint blinked. “I think I'm gonna need a lot of coffee for this conversation.”

“Better than alcohol,” Sam said with a shrug. “I take it nobody’s filled you in on what happened?”

“Been a bit busy,” Clint said. _This_ he could do. He didn’t know why Sam wasn’t pushing, but he’d take it.

 


	4. Bucky's POV - Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to note in the second chapter, that some of the chapters because of the POV switches, sorta backtrack a little to cover things . so this chapter starts off BEFORE Clint escapes medical. I hope that isn't confusing!
> 
> also. why the hell did i insist on chapter titles ? Why do I *always* insist on chapter titles? (i love chapter titles. i think they're great until i struggle to put one on a particular chapter. this is one of them.)

Steve came out of Clint’s room with an unsettled frown, and Bucky couldn’t help but leap to his feet, his heart beating way too fast.

“What is it? Is he okay?”

“What? Oh, he’s fine. He’s just one of the most stubborn idiots I’ve ever known,” Steve said, glaring back at Clint’s door. He deflated suddenly and sighed.

“Sounds like somebody I know,” Bucky said, scattered memories of pre-serum Steve picking fights he couldn’t possibly win running through his head.

Steve gave him a wounded look. Bucky just smirked back at him, but then he turned, his eyes catching on Clint’s closed door and his smirk fell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked more quietly.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. He… “ Steve ran a hand through his hair and sighed again. “I can’t say I know Clint as well as the others. Some parts of him seem to be an open book while others – you can tell he’s hiding things away. But usually if you tread too close, he deflects it and moves on. This is going to sound weird but I just don’t know how to say it - he’s got an energy, a vibe that gets people to like him, open up and laugh. To trust him nearly on sight.”

Saying those last words, Steve gave Bucky a look and Bucky gave a half nod, half shrug because, yeah, Stevie was right. Bucky had trusted Clint almost instantly, but after the first few, confusing days, he’d given up trying to figure out why.

“He’s the glue that holds this team together. Gets us to stow our shit and _work_ together. There are a lot of egos on this team, egos that don’t want to work together,” Steve snorted. “And you know what he’s thinking?”

Bucky had a sudden sinking feeling in his gut that he didn’t actually want to know what Clint was thinking if it set Steve off like this. Because if it upset Steve, he was damn sure it would upset him too.

Biting the bullet, he swallowed and gritted out, “What?”

“He’s thinking of retiring, and that we’d never even _miss_ him if he did. That he’s worthless – as a person, as a friend, as a teammate! How could he -?” Steve turned anguished eyes on Bucky. “How did I fail him? Why do I fail everyone I care about?”

_Well, fuck._

The middle of the hall was probably not the best place for this conversation but it was at least empty at the moment and Bucky didn’t want to take the time to move them. The vague memories he had kept coming back clearer and clearer, still bits and pieces – the longer he spent around Steve, the only thing left in his life that was in any way familiar, the more he remembered - but enough that he was absolutely sure that it wasn’t often Steve was this open about his fears.

“Steve, you didn’t fail. Listen to me, you punk, I can’t speak for Clint, but what happened to me wasn’t your fault!”

Steve flinched and Bucky knew he’d hit the nail right on the head.

“It was _my_ mission –“

“Bull! I _chose_ to go on that mission!” Bucky said, glaring at Steve, _willing_ him to get it. “And if it weren’t for you… I’d still be… _him_. There was no way you could have stopped what happened to me Steve, but you got me _out_. And I will _never_ not be grateful for that.”

“Buck, you don’t even know who you are, you said it yourself,” Steve pointed out.

“But I have a better chance of figuring that out now, thanks to you,” Bucky said, his voice soft.

“And Clint.”

“And Clint, yes,” Bucky agreed. Definitely Clint. When he was so off balance, Clint had somehow supported him without even trying. Just by being _Clint._ “Look, Steve, you may be a dumbass sometimes but you’re not a bad leader, _or_ a bad friend.”

Steve huffed out a breath. “Still, Clint – “

“I’ll talk to him.” Though that talk might not be go the way Steve was hoping for. Clint should absolutely know that he wasn’t worthless, that people _would_ miss him, but if he really wanted to retire? Bucky wasn’t going to stop him. Hell, Bucky wanted to join him.

“Good luck with that. He ain’t listening. Literally,” Steve said.

Bucky clapped him on the shoulders and grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Steve stared at him dubiously, but nodded, giving Bucky one of those rib crushing hugs before taking off to do whatever it was he needed to do.

Staring at Clint’s door with his arms over his chest, Bucky was less sure than his words implied. He didn’t really know Clint all that well, despite the time they’d spent together, despite the feelings that were spreading through Bucky. Steve probably knew him way better. Well, actually, there was no probably about that. They’d known each other and worked together for at least a year, right? No, more like two, Bucky realized, as information he’d gotten as a HYDRA agent surfaced.

So, with that history between them, then if Steve couldn’t get through to Clint, why would Bucky hold even the slightest chance of that?

Taking a breath, he pushed open the door and went inside. A quick glance around the room had him taking in Clint’s hearing aids, bright purple, sitting on that rolling table along side a weird looking bottle of water and a crossword puzzle. Clint himself was rolled up in his blankets with his back to the door.

He wasn’t sleeping though. Bucky had spent too many nights awake with Clint beside him to not know when he was and wasn’t sleeping.

Literally wasn’t listening. _Nice, Steve_. Bucky sighed and made his way to his usual chair and waited, watching the tense line of Clint’s shoulders and wondered what he’d even say if Clint actually rolled over and looked at him.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited there before Natasha came in. Others had come and gone – Stark, Sam, nurses – but Clint had ignored them all. At least it wasn’t just him. She took in the scene just as quick as he did, then turned to glare at him.

“What did you do?”

He glared right back, trying to push down the hurt at her assumption that this was his fault. He would never – but it wasn’t like any of them knew him other than Steve, and even still… he wasn’t the same Bucky Steve had known. The foundations were there but they’d been rocked and pitted from decades of abuse and mindwiping.

“Nothing. He’s been like that since Steve was here.” Bucky leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows on his legs. “Steve already blames himself.”

“Of course he does.” Natasha sighed, pulling a chair closer to Clint’s bed.

“Does he really think he’s so worthless?” Bucky asked, not looking at Natasha.

“If you mean Clint,” she said and he nodded, “Well, he has his moments.”

“How do you get him through those?”

“Very carefully.” Natasha reached for Clint, stroking his hair and Bucky felt a surge of – wait, was this _jealousy?_ \- rush through him at the touch of her delicate looking hands.

Deceptively delicate. Bucky had a sudden, very visceral flash of just what those hands could do and he shook it off uneasily. He _had_ to have known her in the past. She was dangerous and he felt another surge run through him this time, something hot in a way altogether different than the jealousy had been.

It was worried rage. He didn’t want her touching Clint as visions accosted him of Natasha killing unsuspecting men.

Bucky had to stop the growl that curled in his throat.

Natasha was Clint’s friend, and hardly the only dangerous person in this building. Steve, Stark, Bucky – all of them were dangerous, all of them had blood on their hands. His fists clenched and his teeth gritted together as he struggled with the flood of emotions.

He couldn’t watch this. he needed to remove himself, before he did something he’d regret.

Before he did something that would permanently drive Clint away.

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, finding Sam lounging in a chair with a magazine in his hand. Bucky drew in a breath, then turned right and walked away from the little waiting area. Behind him, he could hear the guards scrambling to follow, but then the noises stopped. When footsteps came up behind him, he knew it was Sam, not the guards.

Resolutely refusing to give Sam any time of day, Bucky continued to march through the tower at a relentless pace. He made twists and turns without conscious decision, just needing to move, to burn off his anger and fear and all else.

Sam didn’t force conversation on him, or ask him where he was going or try to stop him from going anywhere and slowly, Bucky relaxed in his presence.

A little.

Sam was still a stranger, for all that he was Steve’s friend, and Bucky had this odd recollection… something about a steering wheel.

It must have been at least an hour of Bucky’s mind going in circles before his pace slowed and he broke the silence.

“We’ve met before,” he said.

“If you want to call it that, sure,” Sam answered easily.

“I try to kill you?”

“And Steve, but y’know, I’m a little flattered, getting lumped in with the big guns,” Sam said.

Bucky stopped moving and Sam moved a step or two beyond before he stopped and turned to face Bucky, Sam’s hand shoved into his pockets nonchalantly.

How was this man so unconcerned? If anything, he had _reason_ to be wary around Bucky, but he _wasn’t_. That didn’t make a lick of sense.

“I’m sorry –“ Bucky started to say. Sam held up a hand and Bucky found himself stopping without even thinking about it.

“Hey, we’re cool, man. Just, I’m never letting you drive, okay? Steve’s bad enough. Seriously, who taught him how to drive?” Sam complained.

Bucky’s eyes bugged.

Was this man insane? Did he have no self-preservation? How could he talk so flippantly about something like this? To _him?_

Sam’s face softened a little. “Look, your Steve’s friend. And I get there may have been… extenuating circumstances. And you may have saved Clint’s life, so, I’m willing to give you a chance. Just don’t fuck it up, or I’ll beat your ass.”

He stared at Sam helplessly, his mouth moved, then he clamped it shut.

Sam smiled at him. “C’mon, you hungry? Bet you’re sick of hospital food. Even if it _is_ provided by Stark, _all_ hospital food seems to be the same. Like, it’s a universal constant.”

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Sam _did_ take Bucky out of the tower, Bucky trailing behind him in disbelief. They didn’t go too far, which Bucky was suddenly grateful for. He’d gone into hiding and when he’d come out, he’d taken a jet in the middle of the night to the top of Stark Tower. He’d been around people, but not the sheer press of it that being in New York always brought with it.

It was overwhelming and Bucky nearly froze in the entrance, his eyes daring about frantically –

Then Sam touched his arm lightly, nodding his head past Bucky. “Just that way, one building over. Not far. Best Chinese in a ten-block radius.”

Bucky nodded jerkingly, then followed Sam so closely, he almost stepped on the other man’s heels. He forced himself to back up a step. Then another. He breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the hole in a wall restaurant without incident.

He blinked at it, then his eyes slid to the side at the sheer ostentatiousness of Stark’s Tower, then back at the quaint little Chinese place. It was… an incongruity, an anomaly, one perpetuated by further glances along the street. Everywhere he looked were tall, glass skyscrapers, buildings taller than _almost_ everything he’d seen as a child growing up in Brooklyn. Or was he misremembering?

“James?” Sam’s voice broke into his awareness and he snapped around to stare at him, wide eyed. Sam stared at him without judgement, holding the door open. Muttering his thanks, Bucky sidled past him, careful not to touch him and stopped a few paces away from the door, waiting for Sam to take the lead again.

They were seated before he knew it, at a booth near the back of the room upon request, Sam letting Bucky have the seat with the best view of the room as a whole and the door specifically and Bucky quietly thanked Sam in his head.

“Why? Why are you doing this? I should be locked up in the tower,” Bucky finally asked.

“Did you want to be?” Sam asked. This line of questioning was too close to the conversation Bucky had had with Clint and he almost winced. “Look, man. None of that was your fault. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you haven’t gone on any rampages recently.”

Bucky snorted and Sam smiled.

“I get that there’s a legitimate worry, but you’ve come to the right place, the right _people_ , to help you,” Sam said. “You’re not a prisoner anymore, James.”

“I’m still dangerous. The damage I could do here… There should be guards – “

“From what I’ve seen over the past few days, of you hovering around Clint and walking on eggshells around everyone else, I don’t really think it’s necessary,” Sam countered. “Now, pick up your menu. And don’t worry – Tony’s paying.”

“Does Tony know he’s paying?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask as he did, scanning the unfamiliar names of the dishes.

“Nope,” Sam said with a grin.

He stared. “I have no idea what I want.” Make that, he had no idea what he _liked_.

“If you’re anything like Steve, you must eat a lot, right?” Sam asked, dropping his menu to the table. Bucky nodded. “Then we’ll order one of everything. Remember, Tony’s paying.”

Bucky smirked. “Well in that case…Let’s make it two of everything.”

Sam grinned wickedly and motioned a server over. After a quick discussion where the server’s eyes bugged wide and he asked Sam to repeat himself at least 3 times, the server left, taking the menus with him.

“We’re gonna be here a long time, you get that right?” Sam said, leaning back in the booth. “Might actually have to talk to me, James.”

 _I am talking_ , Bucky thought. “Why do you call me that?”

“James? It’s your name, isn’t it? I know Steve calls you Bucky, but is that you? Do you feel like him? Do you want to be called Bucky?”

Bucky glared but Sam wasn’t wrong. Bucky had said as much to Steve in the jet. He didn’t know who he was anymore. His memories had started to come back, but had he changed too much to be Bucky?

It may not be him anymore but… could it be him again? Hearing it helped, sometimes. Grounded him, reminded him of who he’d been, who he wanted to be in the future. And other times, it hurt, brought to him the nightmares – of his capture, the fall and his recapture…

And all the things that happened since then. James hurt even more, all those times they tried to break him, all the times he insisted who he was.

At least _they_ never used Bucky. They’d used James, though. Dirtied the name, dragged it, ripped it to shreds as they ripped him. He shuddered, eyes glued to the condensation of the glass in front of him and he blinked, because he didn’t remember it being set down.

The lapse scared him.

He froze, breath catching. Had he lost time? Was he regressing? Bucky’s head jerked up and he stared at Sam who looked back, unconcerned.

“We need to go back,” Bucky breathed out.

Sam frowned and leaned forward. “Sure, if you want to. I can have them deliver our food when it’s ready, but, I gotta ask, why?”

“I…” Bucky struggled to find the words he needed. He glanced back down and gestured at the glass helplessly, as if that would answer the question.

Apparently, it didn’t. Sam stared at the glass and back up. “Because of… water?”

“No!” Bucky blurted, looking around frantically. “Because… it’s just… _there_. I don’t remember them coming back. I’ve – I’ve got holes in my mind,” it hurt to admit that, “and I don’t know what’s going to set me off, what will trigger me.”

Sam laughed. “Man, you spaced out for a second. We all do it. Doesn’t mean you’re about to go psycho on us. I gave you a pretty hefty question, lots of food for thought,” Sam sad. “Did you think about it?”

Bucky nodded and Sam nodded back.

“There you go. You just spaced out, it’s normal. You’ve got a lot on your mind. I see it all the time in my work, guys just get lost in their thoughts. Usually, they’re not the good kind.”

“What are you, some kind of Head Doctor?”

“Nah, nothing that fancy. I do some counseling down at the VA, seeing as I know a little bit about that kind of thing. It’s my way to give back to the people who’ve helped me,” Sam explained. “Course, some tough guys like to pretend they don’t need one, but they all come around eventually. Even super soldiers. Well, most of them. I got two nuts I haven’t been able to crack yet.”

“Let me guess, I’m one of them,” Bucky asked wryly, picking up the glass and sipping from it. The tension had drained back to normal levels, his heartbeat slowing back down as Sam talked.

“Actually, I haven’t even started on you yet. I was talking about Tony and Clint. They’re both masters at evasion,” Sam admitted.

“Clint hasn’t - ?”

“Talked? Not to anybody that I know of.”

 _He’s talked to me_ , Bucky thought, the knowledge filling him with some strange sort of pride, followed by uncertainty. What made Bucky so different that Clint would unload to _him_ , and not a friend, not a fellow Avenger?

Food arrived, forestalling further _serious_ talk, for which Bucky as insanely grateful. Instead, he sampled dishes as they arrived sharing them with Sam, all while Sam took notes of which things Bucky liked and which he didn’t.

“I’ll write this up for you so you can keep it. You should probably get some sort of notebook or a phone or something,” Sam said as they ate. “It’s something Steve started doing just to catch up on things that changed on him. But you, you’re rediscovering yourself. Doesn’t have to be scary James. With the right attitude, and the right support, you can turn it into an adventure.”

“Bucky.”

“Hmm…? Bucky then,” Sam said, without asking why or skipping a beat. “Pass that plate of wontons over, will ya?”

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Sam brought him back to the floor that the ‘hospital wing’ was on, and Bucky beelined for Clint’s door, armed with the leftover Chinese food. He had a feeling Clint would appreciate it. If he was ready to face the world again.

But when Bucky arrived, Clint’s door was ajar, the room empty. His blood ran cold and he dropped the bag, rushing inside to stare despondently at the disheveled bed, the cloth left in a puddle on the floor, the machines that stood silent.

He was breathing hard when Sam joined him. “Surprised it took him so long,” Sam said.

Bucky swiveled his hair to stare at him. “I thought they were _joking_!”

Sam shook his head. “Clint’s a legend for escaping medical the minute he’s mobile, and even, on a few more memorable occasions, before he isn’t. Don’t worry. I bet he hasn’t actually gotten that far, and Nat’s probably watching after him.”

Dazedly, Bucky followed Sam back out into the hall, the worry still gnawing at him.

“JARVIS, how’s Clint?” Sam asked as soon as they’d crossed the threshold. It was a measure of how used to it he’d gotten over the past few days, that Bucky didn’t even jump at the disembodied voice that rang quietly through the corridor.

“I am allowed to tell you that he’s currently in no danger, though not where he is.”

“Still in the building, though, right?”

“He is.”

“Nat keeping an eye?”

“She is.”

“There,” Sam said, his eyes twinkling as if he knew a secret. Bucky almost growled at him. “Nothing to worry about.”

Sam went back in, grabbed the bag Bucky had dropped, then shoved it Bucky, walking down the corridor. Bucky stood there uncertainly for a long moment before Sam stopped, sighed and turned. “You coming or what?”

“Where else would I be going?” Bucky gritted out.

“Well, if Clint isn’t here, you have no more reason to stay here, unless you have a thing for hospitals I wasn’t aware of. I figured we’d go to the guest apartments Tony’s no doubt set aside for you. Then tell Steve where you are. Maybe go to Clint’s rooms and check in on him though, I highly doubt he’s in the mood for visitors if he’s left instructions with JARVIS not to spill his location.” Sam jerked his head at Bucky to follow him.

“Then what?

“After that, take one day at a time. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Sam said.

Bucky scowled but followed. He had no better ideas and he didn’t want to abandon Clint, even if Clint had abandoned him.

Maybe he’d been right to fear coming to the Tower, if this became the place that tore away the first friend Bucky had made in 70 years.

It was a sorely depressing thought.

Clint didn’t answer his door and that night, Bucky’s nightmares were his worst yet since his memories started to return.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

It was the sensation of falling that jerked Bucky awake, but it was the lack of strong arms catching him, holding on to him, that set him off kilter.

He shook, breathing hard, eyes wide as he stared into the unknown shadows of a strange room, trying to piece together where he was and why he was so terrified. Slowly, the memories of the past couple of weeks came back to him and Bucky uncurled himself from the knot he’d made of his body on the bed.

The safehouse. Clint. Clint’s injuries. Calling Steve and finally facing him. Clint shutting him out.

That had hurt but… was it really unexpected? Bucky was broken and all sorts of messed up, one set of trigger words away from becoming the Winter Soldier again. It was probably best that Clint wanted some space from him.

Bucky dropped back onto the tangled sheets and stared up at the ceiling. That’s what _he_ would have expected anyone with any sense to do, anyway, but Clint didn’t seem to have any. It was, if Bucky were honest, part of his charm.

Still, everything leading up till now had made Bucky believe that Clint just didn’t think like that. It had given Bucky hope that maybe he could have a friend, that he wasn’t a lost cause, that he could put being the Winter Solder behind him, or at least make amends for the things he did.

And with each passing day, he had _thought_ there was something developing between him and Clint, something mutual. Friendship, at the very least. Bucky hadn’t think he was ready for more, not so soon, not when he was still rediscovering himself.

But now… now he lay alone in a strange bed, and a strange room missing the feel of Clint beside him, his heat and his scent, the gentle snores, and an ache blossomed in Bucky’s chest that he didn’t have words for.

Restless, he jumped up from the bed and pulled on his clothes, stalking towards his door. Maybe he could burn off some energy and take his mind off things at the same time.

Thankfully, Steve had turned up shortly after his failure to reach Clint and given Bucky a brief tour of Starks tower - at least, the parts that the Avengers had day to day run of. The apartments, the common rooms, the gym and the range. There was even a pool, though Bucky shied away from that.

Making his way unerringly towards the gym, Bucky found Steve already there, a series of punching bags lined up behind him as he worked out. Steve didn't even pause, his fists blurring as he worked the bag over, when Bucky entered the room. Bucky almost turned around and left again when Steve landed a final punch that tore the damn bag off the chain and he turned, barely breathing hard, to stare at Bucky.

"You look like shit. When’s the last time you slept?" Steve said, lugging another bag over and hooking it up.

"I don't sleep. You do this often?" Bucky asked, noticing Steve’s practiced movements.

"You could say that,” Steve admitted. He gave Bucky a long look. “And bullshit. You and I _both_ know that even with the serum, we still need sleep, just not as much as everyone else. So, when's the last time you slept?"

Bucky shrugged. "I just woke up, actually. Needed to burn off a little steam."

Steve eyed him, and Bucky stood his ground, daring Steve to call him out. Instead, he changed topics, digging into something equally as uncomfortable, but Bucky had expected the question. Was resigned to it, even.

"How much do you actually remember, Buck? Cause I can't quite tell... You say you remember nothing and then you go and remind me of something that happened when we were kids,” Steve said.

"It comes and goes,” Bucky said, his gut clenching. He didn’t want to disappoint Steve, but there was probably no way around that. “Sometimes I do remember and then... And then it's gone again, like water through my fingers."

"Always poetic." Steve chuckled, shaking his head at Bucky.

"Was I?"

"It came and went," Steve joked. He sighed seconds later, sobering again and Bucky braced himself for whatever was coming next. Was he supposed to feel so on guard around someone who’d been a brother to him? "So if you don't remember, where'd that pep talk the other day come from?"

"I looked you up on the internet," Bucky snarked, though it was the truth. He watched Steve give the punching bag a few halfhearted taps, setting the bag moving slightly. "Nah, it’s… I don't always remember specific events. It’s more like, I’ve got a sense of things, and I just have this feeling, this hazy recollection of things. For instance, I can’t remember the circumstances, but I do vaguely recall always patching you up because you were constantly getting into trouble and dragging me with you. That you always... jumped before you looked."

Steve blew out a breath. He stilled the bag in front of him. “You aren’t wrong. I dragged you to your death – “ Steve waved at him as Bucky growled, ready to tell him off for that – again - “What I thought was your death, but was actually way worse.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Stevie – I’ve already told you, you punk, you can’t carry the guilt of what happened to me on your shoulders. That’s not how it works.”

Steve stared blankly at the punching bag and his shoulders hunched. “That’s easy to say, Buck. It’s a lot harder to do. Think you might know a thing or two about that.”

“I think you and I aren’t the only ones around here,” Bucky sighed, his mind drifting back to Clint. “But I think… the point is, we don’t _have_ to do this alone, right?” Bucky said slowly.

Because wasn’t that what Clint had been doing with Bucky? Helping him realize who he was, who he’d used to be, who he _wanted_ to be, and giving him permission and space to figure it out? Clint hadn’t forced any decisions on Bucky, but had given him choices and then honored the ones Bucky picked.

And Clint had done all that without Bucky even realizing it. He’d had Bucky’s back and, in return, Bucky had tried – in his own, still clumsy way – to help Clint in return. It’d been little things, more physical then what Clint was doing for Bucky, but still…

For the first time since HYDRA had taken him and molded him to their will, Bucky had successfully bucked their programming and had chosen to take care of someone else, to help and support them as they did him.

And now that support network was growing. Not just Clint but Steve and Sam too. Possibly Natasha but Bucky was sure her priority was Clint. Even Tony had stepped up, in his own way, despite his issues with Bucky.

The important thing was, they were all there for each other. What was important to one, had become important to all.

Bucky choked on the feeling that flooded him – so many things hitting him too hard and fast for him to understand what it was he was feeling - and almost instantly, Steve was by his side, his hands hovering hesitantly about Bucky’s shoulders before Bucky gave a short, tight nod.

Then Steve’s hands came around Bucky and hugged him.

And slowly, Bucky’s hands came up and returned it.


	5. Clint's POV - Jumping to Conclusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more than halfway through. i don't know if i'll get a chapter posted tomorrow or not, but even with OT on Saturday, i'm sure i can get the last 3 chapters edited and up before the end of the weekend.

Having the whole story about what happened when Steve took down SHIELD to take out HYDRA didn’t really change much, if Clint was to be honest. Even if he’d known the details, he’d have still made the same decisions he’d made when he found the Winter Soldier in his safehouse.

But it _did_ reinforce why Bucky had been so afraid to go back to his friend. Hearing Sam’s version of how the fight went down, and knowing there were still gaps there that Sam hadn’t been privy to, Clint could understand where Bucky’s initial refusal to find Steve had been coming from.

It was absolutely relatable.

After New York, Clint had bugged out for a while himself, avoiding everyone - but especially Nat - afraid he’d wake up one morning and Loki would have retaken his mind even though he was gone.

What if Loki escaped Asgard’s punishment? What if there were lingering effects of the stone, of the strange magic Loki had used? All the what if’s had plagued Clint, the possibility of the harm he could do if they were wrong, and the memories of the harm he _did_ do was more than enough to set him on edge.

Of course, Nat hadn’t stood for that. She’d given him his space, but eventually she’d come to the farm to knock some sense into him. It hadn’t _fixed_ anything, his nightmares still woke him up most nights, but the kick in the ass had been just what he needed to get back to work.

And that had felt _good_ , easing some of that awful pain; the self-doubt, the self-hatred and the guilt.

Fury had tried to send him to counseling, and when that hadn’t worked, had tricked him into volunteering at the place Sam Wilson did his sessions in. Maybe he’d thought Clint would pick something up by osmosis, or something. Whatever Fury’s plan, it hadn’t worked. Clint wasn’t about to bare his soul to a bunch of strangers.

Loki had already done that.

Thankfully, Sam had _never_ pressed, but quietly made himself available, and Clint actually had come close to opening up to him more than once because of that.

But he hadn’t been ready.

And now Sam was here, in the Tower, and he still wasn’t trying to force Clint to talk. Either the man was as patient as Job or he had an ulterior motive, or plan, or something. Clint wasn’t exactly awake just yet and he was still trying to decide which when he limped into the kitchen the next morning. His wounds were healing as well as could be expected but he had the gunshot wound in his thigh to contend with in addition to the still healing knee and ankle and yeah, he wasn’t going to be doing anything fancy anytime soon.

He only got halfway when a hot mug was carefully eased into his hand.

He blinked at the mug blankly for a second and decided _not_ to question it. At least, not before the first sip. He closed his eyes on a content sigh, and when he opened them again, he found Bucky leaning on the counter with his own mug, his eyes flicking over to Clint and away again, nervously.

“Thanks,” Clint said quietly. Bucky looked back over and nodded. There was color rising on his cheeks and Clint couldn’t stop staring as he continued to sip his coffee. He didn’t have enough energy for much else right now.

Bucky let him drink his coffee in silence, for which Clint was very grateful, even refilling the mug without being asked as Clint came over to join him at the counter, leaning to get the brunt of his weight off his leg. Bucky must have caught his grimace, because his eyes flicked down, then up and away, a small frown forming on his own face.

“I’m fine,” Clint ground out.

Bucky finally looked him in the face and didn’t look away. “Didn’t say you weren’t,” he said, “Drink your coffee. You’re grumpy.”  Bucky turned away, rinsing out the pot and starting it fresh, before resuming his lean and picking up his own mug.

“ _You’re_ grumpy,” Clint muttered into his mug. Bucky snorted beside him and Clint felt the smile tugging at his lips. He’d only been hiding for a few days, but he’d missed this, had missed Bucky.

That was stupid, right? He barely knew the guy.

Clint was well into his third mug before he noticed they were no longer alone. Steve and Sam were banging around the kitchen, pulling out pans and looking through the fridge while arguing with each other.

“You know you can’t cook, give me that,” Sam said, taking the bacon out Steve’s hand.

“I can cook!” Steve protested. He looked at Bucky. “Tell Sam I can cook!”

“You want me to lie for you, punk?” Bucky shook his head.

“Was hoping you’d just back me on this one,” Steve said, looking so pitifully offended and hopeful at the same time that Clint burst out laughing, falling into Bucky as he did. Coffee sloshed over the lip of his mug and Clint stopped laughing, staring at it mournfully.

“Awwww, coffee, no….”

“That’s what you get for laughing at your elders,” Steve said, stealing the bacon back from Sam, the ensuing wrestling match between them warming Clint’s heart.

Clint licked his hand – hey, it was coffee! He wasn’t about to waste a single drop if he could help it! - missing the soft sound from beside him. Then he eyed Steve with a raised brow. “Born in the 30’s or not, I’m pretty sure I’m _physically_ older than you. Which… now that I think about it, is not something I wanna be bragging about. Okay, now I’m just depressed,” Clint said mournfully.

“Who’s bragging?” Tony said, stepping off the elevator. He stared at Steve and Sam roughhousing with such a longing, resigned look in his eye that Clint nearly choked on his next sip of coffee.

God, him and Steve were gonna drive Clint crazy.

He rolled his eyes and caught Bucky’s doing the same and the two of them nearly dissolved into choked laughter.

Tony stared at them suspiciously. “What’s so funny, Legolas?”

“Not a damn thing,” Clint said with a grin.

“Uh huh,” Tony said.

Bucky snorted again.

“Children,” Tony muttered. “I work and live with children.”

“Takes one to know one, Tony,” Clint said, smirking.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

The lightheartedness of the morning helped improve Clint’s mood by a lot, he’d have to admit.

He still thought he should retire, though, and he didn’t think there was anything anybody could say to change his mind. Then again, that didn’t mean he had to let them try, right? Why take the risk?

He ignored the part of his brain that told him he _loved_ taking risks. _Stupid brain. Get with the program already._

So. Retirement. Sure. Sounded great.

Of course, the only way to keep anyone from trying to talk him out of it would be to just disappear, to drop off the face of the planet with no warning. Can’t talk someone out of something if you can’t find them, right?

Except, he didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want to never see his friends – his _family,_ because that’s what they were, against all likelihood – ever again.

How in the world was he going to manage this?

Clint pondered the question often over the next few days, each moment spent in their company becoming an agonizing reminder of how much he would lose if he _did_ go through with it.

Hell, turned out, _Clint_ was doing a terrific job talking _himself_ out of it. Way to go, Clint.

The one real upside over the past few days was that his injuries were healing nicely. He barely limped anymore, which was a plus, though his shoulder was still bad enough that even the _idea_ of hitting the range made it twinge.

What he wouldn’t give to do it, though, as using his bow always seemed to settle his mind, grounding him. Sometimes, he was even able to work through his problems that way, able to think clearer with the familiar heft of the bow, the twang of a string, the thunk of an arrow.

Sadly, that wasn’t an option, which only made the itch in his fingers to pick up his bow _worse._

Clint sighed, slumping down into the couch as the tv played. He’d given up hiding out in his room, because he was too damn lonely. Which just reinforced the idea that going incommunicado to ensure his retirement was a bad one. The downside to coming back out into the open, however, was that Steve kept trying to corner him to _talk_.

And Clint wasn’t in the mood.

Footsteps approached and Clint heard Steve call his name and he slumped even further with a sigh.

But then the footsteps stopped and there was a murmur of voices and Clint’s head perked up at that as he tried to nonchalantly crane his neck around to see who’d rescued him – Bucky.

A fluttery feeling ran through his limbs at the sight of Bucky running interference, the man turning just enough to send Clint a wink before leading Steve away with an arm around Steve’s shoulders. The elation lasted only a few seconds before a horrified realization hit him.

Bucky and Steve were close, both of them more comfortable together than Clint had ever seen either of them with anyone else. Steve was sending Bucky this proud and fond look that… shit…

Was this why Steve never made a move on Tony? Had Steve been pining for his not so lost love this whole time? And wasn’t it just Clint’s luck to fall in love – er – develop a small (really small) crush on Bucky when Bucky already had feelings for someone else?

Fuck his life.

Clint sighed, stomach growing queasy at the thought of Bucky and Steve together, or having inadvertently come between them. Now he was doubly glad he’d not been stupid enough to ask Bucky out or just… straight up kiss him (not that he’d been tempted in the slightest, or caught himself staring at Bucky’s lips, or had his fingers twitch with the urge to thread into Bucky’s hair – _not at all)_ – and not just because they’d only known each other for a short length of time.

No, because Clint was suddenly and absolutely convinced that he would be taking advantage of Bucky if he made a move on him while Bucky’s memory was full of holes. It was clear how much they meant to each other, and if there _was_ anything more to it…

And there must be. The way Steve’s face lit up when he saw Bucky, the way Bucky relaxed around Steve…  Clint wasn’t going to be the asshole that got in the way just because Bucky didn’t remember anything.

Even if Steve backed down (and why would he?) Bucky would eventually remember and then he’d be pissed.

He needed some fucking space.

And to not have a crush on Bucky.

The first might help with the second so maybe he should just, y’know, bite the bullet and at least go into hiding on a less temporary basis.

Like, leave the tower. The very thing he’d just spent the past few days deciding he _didn’t_ want to do.

He sighed. Sometimes, you just had to sacrifice something you wanted for the greater good of those you love.

Which meant getting out of Steve and Bucky’s hair.

And God, poor Tony. How must _he_ be feeling with all of this?

Guess he and Clint could start a new club: The Pining After Super Soldiers Club. Or maybe, Pathetically in Love with… no. Not love. Clint wasn’t in love with Bucky. He wasn’t. He barely knew him. Why was he having to keep reminding himself of that? That wasn’t a good sign, was it?

Clint groaned at himself, at his patheticness. He really needed to get out of here with that kind of thinking, needed to get far away from the source of Clint’s ill-chosen affections.

Okay, so what was the next step? His place in Bed-Stuy? Or the farm in Iowa?

He picked up the book someone had left on the coffee table and stared at the blank page, grabbed the pencil from beside it and quickly drew two sets of columns and labeled them pros and cons – one for Bed-Stuy and one for the farm.

Starting with his apartment, he wrote his notes sloppily but quickly.

The pro’s, of course, were that it was familiar place, he wouldn’t be alone, and it was an easy walk to the closest coffee shop and pizza place. And rooftop barbeques.

The cons were that it wasn’t isolated enough and if anyone came after him despite his retirement, his neighbors and tenants would pay the price.  

It was a pretty big con. Clint didn’t like putting people in danger, especially those who weren’t capable of fighting back.

Clint tapped the end of the pencil on his lips and moved to the next set of pro’s and cons. He wrote nearly the same thing – only in reverse. With the added con of even a grocery store being a monumental trip should he find himself wanting anything.

Lucky was a pro that could go with Clint wherever he settled and Nat knew where to find him no matter which he decided on – and he couldn’t make up his mind on whether that was a pro or a con.

It depended on how many times she called him an idiot for running away.

It wasn’t running away; it was being smart enough to know your limits and to know when your time was just up. Hanging around in the Tower after retirement would just be awkward.

Hanging around pining over your friend’s boyfriend would not only be awkward (especially if he was found out) but was also in poor taste.

His fingers doodled around the words as he tried to decide. The farm or Bed-stuy. Bed-stuy or the farm?

A clatter made him snap the book shut and shove it under him on the couch. He didn’t want anyone catching sight of his plans. That’d only bring on the dreaded ‘try to talk him out of it’ deal he was trying to avoid to begin with.

He relaxed slightly when he caught sight of Bucky, who’d returned without Steve – wait, how’d he manage that? Steve had been following Bucky around like a lost puppy dog for days now, when he wasn’t trying to corner Clint and give him pep talks about how much he meant to all of them.

Bucky grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, caught Clint staring and held it up in question. Clint nodded and Bucky grabbed a second one, joining him on the couch. Clint tried not to flush when their fingers brushed when he grabbed the bottle Bucky was handing him and attempted to turn his attention back to the tv.

“How’s everything going?” Clint asked. “With the, y’know…” he waved a hand over at Bucky who leaned forward on his knees with a grimace.

Lightly tossing his bottle of water back and forth, Bucky looked straight ahead and shrugged. “Steve’s hovering, hoping I can remember more of our lives. Stark’s glaring daggers at me nine times out of ten. The other tenth, he’s trying to get a closer look at my arm. And I’ve been seeing some specialist at Sam’s recommendation to uh… get my head on straight,” Bucky said, looking down.

“Wow, that’s… that’s a lot you got going on,” Clint said. “Hey, why not Sam, though? Why some other person?”

“Cause this one can literally _get_ into my head, find my triggers and… deprogram me,” Bucky said. “Not that it’s easy. She’s told me it’s gonna take a few tries. And uh, it’s a bit painful, too. But upside, this time next week, they should be gone completely.”

Clint winced. “Ouch. Sorry, buddy. But hey, at least it’ll be worth it in the end, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said softly.

“What about your memories, she helping with those too?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, said those should come back on their own, _if_ they come back. If everything comes back at once, or before my mind is ready, it could be too much. But at least when they do, I won’t be at risk for triggering myself.”

“How much _do_ you remember?” Clint asked, curiously. He almost smacked himself in the head. “Shit, sorry. Don’t answer that. None of my business.”

Shrugging again, Bucky twisted the cap off his bottle. “Just bits and pieces. I told Steve already, its more like… a sense of how things were without remembering actual events. Like, I know Steve was constantly getting into fights, but I can’t actually remember a single one of them. I remember, before I was drafted, he was _always_ sick and I was forever taking care of him – but I don’t remember what I did, or what made him sick or….”

Clint winced in sympathy as Bucky made a noise.

“That’s awful,” he said quietly, thanking his lucky stars that for the brief time Loki controlled him, he hadn’t lost any of his memories or his sense of self. Though there were a few memories he could do without, specifically the ones he made while he was _under_ Loki’s control, but there was nothing that could be done about that.

“So that crack you made the other day, about Steve not being able to cook?” Clint asked.

Bucky looked up with a grin. “Oh, I made that shit up. Took a stab in the dark, but I had this gut feeling I was right. I may not be able to remember the day we met, or how long I’ve known him, but I have a pretty good sense of the guy. Of what Steve’s like.”

“Steve snapped you out of it, back when…” Clint cleared his throat. “So, I guess you two are pretty close.” _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stop fishing._

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I get the feeling that… that I’d walk through fire for Steve.”

There was a choking sound and for a second, Clint thought it was him - because if that didn’t sound like Steve and Bucky were together, he didn’t know what did - but then Bucky’s head shot up and stared past Clint. Leaning his head back over the arm of the couch, Clint looked at Steve upside down.

“Yeah, Buck, to the end of the –“ Steve choked.

“End of the line,” Bucky’s eyes went wide. “I remember that.”

Steve laughed wetly, coming around the couch and – and Clint leapt up and started to dart away, to leave them to their ‘reunion’ or whatever, but then he dashed back, picked up the evidence of his possible escape plan, and then booked it out of the room.

The way they stared at each other, Clint didn’t think they even noticed he’d left.

He tried not to think about how much that hurt.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

It was only two days later that Clint found himself in Iowa at the family farm. It was pretty much as he’d last left it - in the middle of repairing the front deck, his battered truck parked haphazardly on the lawn – when Nat had dragged him back to New York six months prior.

Yup, everything was as he’d left it, except some dirt, leaves and other debris that had piled up on the truck over the fall and the tarp covering his deck supplies. The tarp looked a bit chewed – probably squirrels.

He was surprised this deep into winter in Iowa that there was no snow on the ground.

He sighed, already missing the tower and its occupants, and limped forward, Lucky at his heels. Unlocking the door, Clint dropped his bags just inside the house, pulled out his flashlight and headed for the basement. He’d turned off the power and everything else while he’d been gone and getting it turned back on was his first priority.

Followed by a long, hot shower. Or, even better, a long, hot soak in the tub. It’d been an exhausting walk from where he’d had the cab drop him off and his legs, as much as he’d healed, was feeling it.

He’d taken a flight out of Newark instead of La Guardia or JKF (or taken a quinjet from the roof, which he totally could have done) a few hours ago, the ticket bought right there in the airport, in cash, and absolutely _not_ under his name.

Clint wasn’t fooling himself into thinking they still wouldn’t find him – especially Nat – but it would buy him some time.

Maybe.

At the very least, it might show them just how serious he was.

He’d also left a time delayed message for his teammates, explaining his decision, set to trigger only if they inquired JARVIS after him, or attempted to search for him online.

If he didn’t get a notification that it the message had been received after, say, 2 weeks’ time, Clint planned to hit send himself. Was that too long of a wait? Should he wait longer?

He flicked a few switches, taking everything out of standby mode and limped back up the stairs, wincing at the strain on his leg. He’d really overdone it today, and the docs back at the tower would be up in arms with him if they’d known.

Then again, if it took that long for them to start looking for him, wasn’t it just more proof of what he’d been saying all along? That they didn’t _really_ need him on the team?

Oh, great. Now he was feeling sorry for himself. He wasn’t even home five minutes before it started. _Always an overachiever, eh Clint?_ He asked himself. He headed for the kitchen and pulled out Lucky’s bowls, filling them with water and some dry food he’d been smart enough to bring – just enough to tide Lucky over till he could make a supply run.

Which he planned to do after a full night’s sleep. Or at least, whatever he could get. He hadn’t slept well since he’d woken up in the tower.

Getting Lucky on the plane had proved to be a hassle and a half. Clint didn’t trust doggy cargo – there’d been way too many news stories of late for how that had gone really, _really_ bad – and Lucky wasn’t a service dog of any kind, so they didn’t want to let him board the main cabin and Clint didn’t want to flash his Avengers credentials to convince them otherwise.

That would have defeated the purpose of sneaking away in the (near) dead of night and painted a giant fucking arrow that said “Clint is here!”

Thankfully, he’d sweet talked a steward person, using Lucky’s supposed ill health as a reason why he couldn’t go into doggy cargo. The fact that Lucky was missing an eye and sometimes limped because a paw hadn’t healed quite right had helped seal the deal.

That and Lucky’s overly affectionate manner. That could win _anybody_ over, except for the tracksuit mafia, of course.

_Unfeeling jerks._

Lucky fell on the bowls as soon as they were filled, and Clint walked back over to the front door, hauling his bag up over his shoulder – _ow, wrong shoulder_ – and slumped off upstairs to the bedroom to unpack.

Halfway through unpacking he shoved the bag aside and muttered, “Screw it,” before laying out on the bed and kicking off his shoes and pulling out his aids. He closed his eyes and only minutes later felt the bed shift and move as Lucky joined him.

The warm body against his left Clint feeling better than he had in days and he fell asleep quicker than he expected.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Clint hadn’t even had a chance to get himself into a routine when his solitude was interrupted.

Lucky woke him 7 hours after he crashed and Clint groggily let him out and made coffee, sitting on the front steps as Lucky did his thing and chased squirrels. Clint was bundled up – there might not be any snow, but it was damn cold out – his breath mixing with the steam from his mug.

Eventually, he’d left Lucky to it and took that long hot shower, hissing as the hot water hit his shoulder. He should probably have wrapped that. Ah well.

He puttered about for the rest of the evening, starting one task only to abandon it for another, feeling oddly restless and out of sorts. He stopped to make dinner for him and Lucky and stared at the pitiful contents of his cabinets and resigned himself to cleaning out the fridge.

Nat _really_ hadn’t given him much time when they’d left the last time.

He set about cleaning the fridge – which really just consisted of him grabbing a garbage bag and some gloves, tossing everything in the bag, container or no – there’d be no saving any of those - as he tried not to breath, then tying it up and leaving it just beside the door.

With a sigh, he shoved his feet into his sneakers, not even bothering to tie the laces, put on his coat, and grabbed his keys. He shifted the bag outside and tossed it over the rail into the empty bin, then climbed off the porch, checked his truck over and headed into town. He still didn’t have the energy to do this, but the ground wouldn’t stay snow free much longer, given his luck, so now was the time he had.

It took him far, far too long to get everything he needed and by the time he got back to the house, his energy levels had been pushed to nonexistent. He barely managed to get the perishables away and eat dinner – take out, of course, though it’d gone cold by the time he got back – before he dragged himself off to bed and crashed.

The next time he woke up, coffee was brewing. Squinting at the morning light and still foggy, he realized Lucky wasn’t at his side. He shuffled up with a groan he couldn’t hear and blearily got to his feet. After a necessary side trip to the bathroom, Clint finally followed his nose.

He didn’t remember upgrading the coffee pot, or setting it up last night, but maybe Past Clint had been smart for once and –

Clint stopped short at the sight of red hair sitting at his rickety kitchen table, one mug steaming in front of an empty chair and the other cradled in Nat’s hands as she daintily sipped it.

“Uh…”

“Morning,” she said, lowering the mug so he could see her lips.

“Uh…” he said again, like the fully functioning adult that he was.

She rolled her eyes. “Sit down and drink your coffee.”

Awww, crap.

Well… that hadn’t taken her long at all.

Clint sat down and reached for his mug and they sat in a slightly awkward silence as he drained it. She reached behind her, snagged the pot and poured him another and he grunted at her gratefully.

He drank the second mug slower, Nat breaking the silence halfway through it.

“Did you really think you could simply bail without telling anyone?”

“Didn’t have to tell you. You’re here, aren’t you?” Clint muttered.

She nudged him with a foot and gave him an exasperated look. “Clint, why’d you leave?”

He gave her his most withering look. It didn’t faze her in the slightest, cause when did anything ever faze Nat? “I don’t want to talk about it. Why do you think I’m out here?”

“Because you know you’ve got bullshit excuses and the rest of us will make you see reason?”

He rolled his eyes. “Not. Talking. About. It.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “But I’m not leaving either.” She stood and set her empty mug in the sink and walked past him, stooping to leave a kiss at his temple. “I’ll go set myself up in the guest room.”

She left the kitchen and Clint groaned, letting his head hit the table. He was both irritated and relieved that she was there, and it confused him.

He decided he wasn’t going to think about that either.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

The days sort of, blended together after that. Nat, true to her word, didn’t force Clint to talk about any of his reasons behind retiring, or hiding in the middle of nowhere from his friends and teammates.

He lazed about the first few days, still recuperating some, but eventually, the inactivity got to him and he started working on the porch again. After all, the snow was still holding off, so shouldn’t he take advantage of that?

It was slow work, because now that he had a task before him, Clint found himself daydreaming.

_I wonder how Bucky’s settling in at the tower?_ Course, he’d know that if he’d stuck around or even taken his damn phone with him (but there was no way he’d do that. Stark could hack that in like, .5 nanoseconds or something). Then he shook his head at himself. _Stupid. He’s got Steve. He’s probably settling in just fine._

And he wasn’t jealous either. Maybe a bit lonely, but not jealous. Really. _Maybe it’s some kind of a mid-life crisis. You can have those early, right? H_ e wondered, as he hammered a nail down into the deck. That’s all this was. Clint was just at the age that he probably _should_ have someone that meant something special to him, that _he_ meant something special too. That’s all it was. Nothing else.

Yeah, he didn’t believe him either. Good thing Nat didn’t know about his crush.

It was four days after he arrived, which meant four days after Nat had crashed his lonely bachelor-pad, when Nat pushed him out the door to his truck.

“I already _did_ a supply run,” he protested

She snorted. “Yeah, almost a week ago, for you and good weather. _I’m_ here now and the weather report says its going to turn bad soon. If we have to hunker down, you’re not feeding me a million frozen pizzas and grease laden pizza rolls. Or bagel pizzas. We need _real_ supplies.”

Grumbling, Clint followed her out of the house, not bothering to lock up behind him. Who was going to break into a farm in Iowa that looked like it had seen better days? Not even the guys that had been after him when he’d been hiding in his safehouse were a danger anymore.

Clint was pretty sure he’d taken out the last of those guys when they’d ambushed him.

He tossed her the keys and dozed on the way into town. If she couldn’t appreciate all his pizza related foods, then she could drive to the store herself. She smirked at him and he bristled, because he just _knew_ she was hiding something.

Shopping with Nat had him even more convinced of that with every passing minute.

“Exactly _how long_ do you think we’re going to be snowed in?” he said, eyeing the carts – yes, carts, multiple. Good thing he had the truck.

“Hmmm? I don’t know. You think I’ve ever experienced an Iowa winter before? I have it on good authority it’s been a really mild one so far which, in my experience and your luck, means shits about to hit the fan,” Nat said idly.

Clint stared at her suspiciously, but he couldn’t really deny that logic.

The whole shopping extravaganza had taken them 3 hours, and with the drive there and back included, and a stop for lunch, it was over 5 hours later before they got back to the farm.

Clint knew something was wrong the second he pulled up close to the door and Lucky didn’t come around the house to greet them with a wagging tail. Getting out of the truck carefully, he eased his hand around to reach for one of his knives.

Nat, strangely enough, seemed completely unconcerned. She gave him a secretive smile and headed for the house.

Holding the knife behind him, he followed her cautiously up the stairs. He froze when he stepped through the door, Nat’s words ringing in his head as he gaped around him.

“Took you boys long enough.”


	6. Bucky's POV - Dropping In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OVERLAPPING! 
> 
> you ever have those moments when you KNOW a word and it just won't come to you? God. yeah. happens ALL the freaking time to me.
> 
> anyway, Overlapping was the word i wanted to use a few authors notes back. Most of these chapters have overlapping parts. most of each chapter is new material, but the first and last parts have a little bit of overlap between one chapter to the next. Its not exactly a style i usually use but it felt right for this story. so i hope it hasn't been confusing!

Bucky scowled as dragged himself into the common room of Stark's place (Avengers Tower, whatever) feeling drained and far too wrung out. He might not like these sessions with that redheaded telepath, but if it meant removing any chance of being retriggered, he’d take it.

It wouldn’t do _shit_ for his PTSD - as his new therapist explained (and then had to further explain what _that_ even was) – but it would go a long way to making him feel better, more in control…

Almost normal.

Speaking of… where _was_ Clint? He was the only person there besides Sam who didn’t watch him like he was about to go on a murderous rampage. Well, Steve didn’t, but then Steve kept looking at him hopefully whenever it seemed like Bucky might be remembering shit.

It was a little exhausting. At least Sam and Clint treated him like he was normal and not a ticking time bomb or a sideshow exhibit, and of the two, Bucky found himself drawn more often to Clint, the man’s smile somehow reducing all of Bucky’s anxieties into a warm, bubbly feeling.

“Where’s Clint?” he grunted, sliding onto a stool, watching Tony and Steve putter about doing _something_ in the kitchen that Bucky couldn’t see, not that he really cared either.

“Why? Miss your boyfriend?” Tony asked.

Bucky ignored the dig. More important things. “Just, haven’t seen him knocking about lately and he’s rather hard to miss,” Bucky said.

“Don’t worry about Clint. Towers got a million little bolt holes for the Hawk, just as he likes it. Sometimes, when he hides, it’s a game. Other times, he needs it, the space. So, we leave him alone,” Stark said. He paused, turned to Bucky and raised an eyebrow. “Think you might know a little a bit about things like that, yeah?”

Bucky grunted again, then accepted the coffee Stark slid over to him. Oh, that’s what the punks were doing. At least JARVIS wouldn’t need to put out another kitchen fire. Bucky let it go and drank his coffee. It didn’t taste _right,_ coffee these days, it never did. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it wasn’t that the coffee was _bad_ – though some he liked better than others - just _different._

He’d get used to it, he was sure. He just wished… Bucky held back the sigh as he wondered, again, where Clint was and if he’d come out of the woodwork anytime soon. He rather liked it when Clint was there extolling the virtues of coffee and threatening to educate Bucky on all the different varieties out there.

It was rather ridiculously endearing how enamored and addicted to coffee Clint was. He’d never seen the like before. A soft feeling ruffled through him just thinking about Clint, surprising him into a blush he hoped nobody caught.

With a sharp shake of his head to clear his mind – the soft feeling didn’t go away, though, and thoughts of Clint still lingered - Bucky drank his coffee while Steve and Stark wandered off towards the couch. Well, Steve wandered over, Stark followed at a distance, his eyes staring blatantly at Steve’s ass. Bucky almost choked on his coffee. _Oblivious idiots._

“Oh, hey Buck? Have you seen my sketchbook?” Steve asked, his eyes pleading with Bucky to say yes. Bucky frowned.

“Which one?”

“Er… _you_ know,” Steve said, his eyes flicking over to Tony and back again while the other man sipped at his own coffee, pretending to stare out the giant picture window that took up the entirety of one wall, as if he _hadn’t_ just been staring at Steve’s ass two seconds ago. How did Steve keep _missing_ it?

Stark glanced away from the window at Steve and back again and Bucky had to fight the urge to tell Stark to step away from it. Bucky both hated and loved that window. The view was great, but at what cost? On the best days it left him feeling vulnerable to attack, and on his worst, he wanted to keep everyone away from it, keep them safe.

Even Stark, even though he barely knew the man, since Steve seemed so enamored of him. As that damn sketchbook Steve was so worried about would prove.

Bucky smirked. “Nope.” Maybe Stark had found it. Bucky hoped he had, or that he would. Steve would have some explaining to do if he had. Maybe _then_ they’d get somewhere.

Damn, Bucky had been here for about a week at most and he was _already_ drowning in the unresolved tension between them. He had no idea how the rest of them coped with it on a daily basis for however long this had been going on.

_I should ask Clint next time I see him,_ Bucky thought, as he watched Steve panic about his sketchbook but trying not to show it.

But, just like Clint, Steve’s sketchbook was nowhere to be found.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Two days later, Bucky still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Clint and neither had anyone else. It was really starting to worry him and he couldn’t understand why nobody else was concerned. Clint had left medical before he was cleared and yet nobody else was fazed by how bad of an idea that was.

“Could be in the vents,” Steve suggested.

“The _vents?_ Why?” Bucky asked, eyes bulging. Why would anyone go crawling around in vents in the place that you _lived?_ It wasn’t a _mission_.

Steve shrugged. “I never asked. But I’ve seen him climb in and out of them more than once. Sometimes he stays in there for days, other times it’s like his version of using the stairs. He uses them to move around the building instead of taking the elevator like most people would.” He paused and shrugged. “But Clint’s not like most people. I don’t think any of us really are.”

“And nobody’s worried?”

“It’s Clint,” Stark said absently, staring at Steve’s face while Stevie drew in his back up sketchbook, the other still MIA. The longing was enough to gag Bucky, if he didn’t understand the sentiment all too well. Instead, he felt an almost sympathetic kinship with Stark. “He’s fine. You’ll get used to it.”

Bucky let it slide for a second, but something niggled at him. It wasn’t sharp and filled with dread, not the way it had been before the bad things in his or Steve’s lives had happened, but it was _there_.  And that had him pointing out, “Clint’s addicted to coffee…”

Stark rolled his eyes. “ _Everyone_ knows that, Terminator,” he snarked.

“No, listen. When we were in his safehouse, we went through the entire supply he had fast, and most of that was him.”

Steve put down his sketchbook. “What are you saying, Buck?”

“I’m sayin’, how good is the towers coffee supply?” Bucky struggled with the words, knowing that there _was_ something off, but unable to verbalize it. Geez, these guys were teammates! Shouldn’t they be more in tune with each other than this? How did they function affectively as a team if they weren’t?

Steve stared at him, perplexed, and Bucky almost ground his teeth in frustration. It was Stark that put it all together, sending Bucky a sharp look before speaking.

“JARVIS, is our coffee usage levels at normal?”

“Negative, sir. They have dropped approximately 82%.”

The room froze so completely that you could have heard a pin drop without having to resort to Super Soldier hearing.

“JARVIS, is Clint in the building?” Steve asked slowly.

“Agent Barton is not, in fact, in the building.”

“How long?” Bucky demanded, jerking forward on the couch.

“It has been 5 days, 10 hours and 22 minutes since Agent Barton departed.”

There was some soft swearing around Bucky as Steve and Tony finally clued in on what Bucky had been saying all along.

Clint was missing and something was wrong.

“Where is Natasha?” Steve suddenly asked. Bucky perked up at that. That was a good question. He looked up at the ceiling as he waited for the computer’s response. Natasha and Clint were really good friends. Best friends. Maybe even Steve and Bucky level friendship. If she was still in the building, she would know –

“Agent Romanov is also no longer in the tower.”

Bucky’s heart sank.

“When?” Tony asked.

“She left 4 days, 7 hours and 36 minutes ago.”

Bucky glared at Steve and Tony, pissed at how _little_ they knew Clint, how easily they’d brushed off Bucky’s concerns. Bucky had no idea where to start looking for Clint and he had the sinking feeling Natasha was the only one who might.

“Sir, Agent Barton left a message in the event anyone inquired after him.”

“Play it,” Steve said.

Dread filled Bucky, mixing with the anger, but seeing the sudden weary wariness on Steve’s face, the anger eased. Steve had a suspicion as to what was going on and he didn’t like it. Which meant Bucky wouldn’t like it.

In fact, it probably had something to do with the incident in medical almost 2 weeks ago, now. Bucky had thought that had blown over, but… maybe _he_ hadn’t been as perceptive as he’d thought.

A small holograph of Clint, looking worse for wear and extremely tired – Bucky winced – flickered onto the coffee table.

“Hey guys, guess you got curious what I’ve been up to. Look, it should come as no surprise that I’m turning in my official resignation. Already told Steve I was thinkin’ on it. Gonna retire before it gets me killed – “ he looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck and Bucky’s eyes narrowed even as Steve made a _sound_. “- or somebody else.”

Clint was studiously _not_ looking at the camera and Bucky had the sudden sense that there was something else going on.

“Anyway,” Clint said, clearing his throat and scratching at the bridge of his nose, finally facing them again. “Figured I’d give you all a breather from my mopey ass. Plus, give you all time to adjust to the idea. You and I all know, that if I stuck around, you all would keep forgetting I’m retired and try to get me out on whatever came up next. And let’s face it, there’s _always_ something needing doing and sooner or later _I’d_ forget all my very good reasons for not doing this anymore and I’d go out with you anyway and then we’d all regret it.”

Stark snorted. “Well, he ain’t wrong about that first bit – there’s _always_ some emergency or another going on.”

“Shh!” Bucky waved at Stark, leaning further forward – and almost sliding right off the easy chair he’d been sitting in - to try and glean any clues from holographic Clint.

“So, yeah. Took off to give us all some space. Let you adjust, let _me_ adjust. But don’t think this means you’ve all seen the last of me,” Clint grinned. “It’s just the last of me _for now_. And now that I’ve threatened you all properly, it’s time for me to go. See you around, guys.”

The holograph flickered off and the room descended into a heavy silence.

It was Steve who broke it.

“He can’t be serious!”

Stark nodded sagely. “You’re right. I can’t believe he left without saying goodbye and that he denied me the opportunity to give him a right send off! Think of the party we could have had!”

“That’s your take on this?” Bucky growled. His fists clenched at his sides and he had to force his fingers to relax, the metal of his left hand creaking way too loudly for his liking.

Steve shot Bucky a quelling look, not that Bucky had any intention of heeding it, before crossing his arms to glare at Stark. “He’s not wrong. Clint left because he feels inadequate to this team, and you want to throw _parties_?”

“Look, Clint’s a normal guy, like me. If I didn’t have the suit… I couldn’t do this job. What I got going for me is my brains, thinking ahead and building what I need. I don’t blame him for taking a good look at what we’re doing and coming to his senses.”

“Could _you_ just stop? Knowing what’s out there? The good that we do?”

“Of course not,” Stark said. “But Clint and I are _very_ different people, with very different backgrounds, and that’s going to affect our choices. And it _is_ his choice, Steve.”

“So, you think we should just… let him go?” Steve stare at Stark incredulously but Bucky was a little more thoughtful as he watched them argue.

“No, of course not. I think we should make sure it’s what he _really_ wants, because our little hawk has a tendency to be self-deprecating and is prone to depressive moods that make his decisions _for_ him,” Tony pointed out seriously. A sudden thought hit Bucky at this show of insightfulness from Tony.

Tony was speaking from experience. Not… not just knowing _Clint_ experience, and what he was like, but the personal kind. The kind that meant Tony had done similar. All in all, this conversation proved that no matter how flippant Tony’s comments might come across at times, he truly cared about his teammates.

Bucky blinked. And exactly when had he started thinking of Stark as Tony?

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

He had to hand it to Tony, once the man knew there was an issue, he was on top of it. Clint’s phone was found, idling in his room at the tower and Bucky grinned because the man was smart even as he was frustrated that it would make things harder.

But Natasha had taken hers and Stark had it tracked in no time.

Before long, they were all loading into the quinjet: Steve, Tony, Sam, Bruce, and Bucky – Thor was still off world and Bucky was okay with that. Superhumans were one thing, but meeting a _god_ was another.

“So, where _are_ we going, anyway?” Steve asked.

“Iowa, apparently,” Sam said as he sat down in the pilot’s seat.

“What the fuck’s in Iowa?” Steve asked.

“Hey! Language!” Tony shouted, strolling up the ramp and slapping the button to close it. It whirred as it did and Bucky smirked when Steve rolled his eyes and muttered. Tony ignored him and kept going. “As for what’s in Iowa, I don’t know. But Natasha’s there, so let’s find out what’s so interesting. I can really only think of one thing, myself.”

“Okay, but how do we know he’s actually there and Natasha isn’t sending us all on a wild goose chase?” Bruce asked

_That was a fair question,_ Bucky thought. _Her loyalty would be to Clint after all._

“Because, after some thorough checking, I found that the property her signal is coming from is one Barton Family Estate – though it doesn’t go by that name any more. The records were buried – Clint did the smart thing and sold it to himself a few times under different names and through dummy corporations, enough to throw most people off the scent, but when am I most people?” Tony grinned. “Anyway, it belongs to a Francis Milton now and it can’t be coincidence that our little spider has been holed up there for a few days, don’t you agree?”

“Sounds suspicious enough for me,” Steve agreed.

“Everybody sit tight,” Sam called back. Within moments, the quinjet had risen from the rooftop and was flying silently and swiftly out over the city.

Bucky had no basis for comparison but it seemed like the trip was very quick. Stark was grinning at him. “15 hours by car, 2 hours by plane, or 30 minutes by quinjet – which I had a hand in designing, of course. Don’t you just _love_ the future?”

“I’m still waiting for the flying cars,” Bucky said, watching the smirk get wiped right off Tony’s face. “I vaguely recall a promise that we’d have flying cars – what, Stevie? Before the 50’s? Right?”

Steve laughed, bumping his shoulder with Bucky.

Tony cleared his throat. “Flying cars are absolutely possible, they’re just not… practical. I mean, would you actually want everybody and their grandma to have a flying car? You think we have traffic accidents now, I guarantee they’ll be worse if we converted.”

“Not practical, huh?” Steve said, a sly grin appearing on his face. “And how many do you have in that garage of yours?”

“5 – no 6! I _distinctly_ remember wanting to have one of every color in the rainbow as an option.”

Everyone chuckled and the rest of the flight passed in that same easy banter and Bucky relaxed more than he thought possible.

Until Sam announced they were minutes away from landing. Tony went ahead to sit beside him as they swung around the farmhouse, deciding where to land. There was plenty of space, and the neighbors were distant enough that a quinjet on the front lawn wouldn’t draw attention, but in the end, Tony advised Sam to land behind the farmhouse.

“Are we trying to surprise him or piss him off?” Bruce asked wryly.

“Little of both,” Tony said. “If we catch him off guard, he’ll be more honest with us when we ask his intentions.”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m starting to regret coming along for the ride.”

Tony slapped Bruce on the shoulder as he went past, the ramp already opening up. “You know you wanted to be here. Us Avengers stick together.”

There was a back door to the farmhouse, locked when Tony checked, so the group of them slowly strolled around the house, taking in the grounds. It was all rather dreary, a winter day in northern US, and the house was drab with peeling paint and half-finished projects. But it was obvious, as they made their way to the front, that Clint was in the process of fixing the place up.

It was also obvious that he’d been at it for a while, rather sporadically, perhaps, with his other duties, but there was fresh work on the front porch and it all felt rather sturdy.

Bucky wasn’t too sure manual labor was a good idea when you had broken ribs and a healing shoulder but if Clint was anything like Bucky, he got restless when left with nothing to do for too long.

Maybe, while they were here anyway, they could help out a bit. And by they, Bucky meant him, and he resolved to offer as soon as he could.

The front door was unlocked, which made Tony tsk in disapproval. “Some spies our Hawk and Widow are, leaving the house unlocked and open for any strangers that wandered by.”

Tony had barely opened the door when he was bowled over by a mass of golden fur. Steve caught him before he went down and Sam chuckled at the sight of Tony sprawled in Steve’s arms.

Honestly, Bucky was amused by the sight too. Even Bruce was smiling and shaking his head. Tony was shooing the dog away to no effect until Bucky squatted down and held out his flesh hand and kissed the air. The dog – who only had one eye, and Bucky swallowed, feeling a bit of kinship with the dog (which… it was a _dog_. This was _stupid)_ – bounded over, wriggling happily and squirming against Bucky’s legs as Bucky pet him.

“Awww… looks like Barnes made a friend,” Tony jabbed, but his voice and eyes were softer than normal and Bucky let his hair drop in his face to hide his smile. Tony was a soft touch, apparently, at least by way of animals, and he gave Bucky an approving smile as Bucky rubbed at the dogs’ belly, trying to get at the dogs’ collar and see if he had a name.

“Lucky,” he read out with a snort. “You only have one eye, pal. How lucky are you?”

“That probably depends on your Point of View,” Steve said softly, touching Bucky’s shoulder and okay, yeah, punk had a point.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

It was over an hour before they heard the vehicle pulling up - not the driveway, because there really wasn’t one – and parking on the lawn. Bucky sat frozen to his seat, suddenly afraid to move, Lucky sitting on his feet and leaning against his legs bodily, tongue out as he happily panted.

Clint was gonna be pissed. Clint was going to take one look at them and throw them out of the fucking house. He’d gone out here to get away from all of them and now look: They’d brought themselves anyway, and they were here, in his space, unlooked and unasked for, rather defeating Clint’s purpose in running away.

They’d invaded Clint’s space. It was well meant but, Bucky was realizing, it had been an ill thought out plan.

And now they were all here to talk Clint out of his choice. Bucky’s gut churned. They were trying to take away Clint’s choice and he shuddered at the thought.  Bucky had only recently regained his own choices and while it was still slow going at times the idea that he’d been party to taking away someone else’s made his stomach drop.

The front door creaked open and Natasha appeared in the doorway. She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow and stared at everyone crowded into the living room.

“Took you boys long enough,” Natasha said. Bucky paid no attention to her, a shadow moving behind her on the porch catching his attention instead. Seconds later, the shadow stepped inside, resolving into a wary Clint, a knife held behind his back.

At which point her words registered and Bucky realized… Natasha had been waiting for them, Clint had not.

She hadn’t warned him.

Come to think of it, she could have turned off her phone. Even Stark couldn’t hack something that was off… could he? Which meant she’d drawn them there on purpose…

And hadn’t _warned_ Clint.

She _wanted_ this to happen.

“Uh…” Clint blinked. “Hi… guys?”

He sounded uncertain, still wary, though he put away the knife in a lighting fast move – almost faster than Bucky could see where he’d stashed it.

Clint looked at Natasha accusingly. “Is _this_ why we went on our little supply run?” There was a slight nod from Nat. “You could have just told me,” he said grumpily, turning and stomping back out the door.

Bucky blinked, the urge to go after him strong, but it wasn’t his place. He wasn’t one of Clint’s teammates, one of his ‘family’.

“What are you waiting for? We bought enough shit to feed an army. Help him bring it in,” Natasha said with an arched eyebrow.

Steve leaped up and bounded out of the house, Bucky and Sam following more sedately. Tony eyed Widow as they passed him and Bucky couldn’t help but overhear them on his way out the door, Lucky at his side.

“Aren’t you going to help?” Tony asked.

“I already have,” She smiled.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

It had been late afternoon when they’d left the tower and approaching early evening when Clint and Natasha had come back. After putting away the groceries, Bruce made dinner for everyone – something quick and simple, of course, but still delicious, the farmhouse filling with the scent of garlic bread that had them all drooling long before the rest was ready. By unspoken agreement, no one had cornered Clint and talked about his announcement to retire and afterwards, the 7 of them gathered in the living room, Lucky happily making rounds and making friends with everyone.

“So, what are the sleeping arrangements?” Tony asked, clapping his hands together gleefully. He looked around the silent room. “What? We’re obviously not going to leave right after we got here unless there’s an emergency aaaaand –“ he waggled his phone. “I haven’t gotten a single ping. So, before we all pass out in our chairs, we should probably think about that.”

“Well, this is an old farmhouse, not Starks tower,” Clint said, looking resigned. “I’ve only got three bedrooms and a couch, which would normally be more than enough. But there’s 7 of us… which means some of us are doubling up, and I’m getting Lucky.”

“Clint,” Tony grinned. “Getting _lucky_ , eh? With who?” his eyes slid around to Bucky and Bucky glared, “Cause I might have an idea or two about that – “

Bucky glared at Tony but Steve actually tossed a couch pillow at Tony’s head. Tony cackled, batting it away and ducking behind Bruce who rolled his eyes, all while Clint stared at Tony in disbelief.

Finally, Clint blinked before he pointed at the dog, apparently not catching who Tony had meant. Thank god, Bucky thought, nearly sagging in relief. “Going senile, Tony? Lucky’s his _name_ , and I ain’t sharing. He’s my dog. No stealing.”

“I’ll take the couch,” Bruce volunteered. “You think I’m sharing with any of you guys? Nah, if my choices are 2 super soldiers with PTSD and Tony – who might molest me in my sleep – “ Tony protested and Bucky smirked “- then I’ll take the damn couch. Even if it’s the most uncomfortable, spring ridden thing in existence, because it might be safer for the rest of you if I do.”

“It’s not!” Clint said, obviously affronted at the disparaging remark about his couch and Natasha laughed.

“Bucky, why don’t you help me grab everyone’s things from the quinjet?” Steve said, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky hesitated, but saw that Clint was talking animatedly with Bruce – talking up the couch, it looked like - and he nodded.

By the time they got back inside, everyone had broken up. Bucky handed Bruce his overnight bag, then followed Steve up the stairs. Sam was just exiting the bathroom and he grabbed his bag from Bucky with a grin, leaving Bucky with only his own bag.

“Great timing, man,” he said, then jerked a thumb towards first one door, then another. “I’m rooming with Nat, Tony’s in there.”

Steve nodded. “Got it. Night, Buck,” Steve said, opening the middle door and slipping inside, closing it behind him.

That left one door. One room. Clint’s room.

Bucky hesitated before Clint’s door. Bucky shouldn’t be surprised that Steve and Tony were bunking together, but to be honest, he hadn’t expected Steve to let him out of his sight. Then again. Tony.

_Idiot._ Bucky would be glad, but he just wasn’t sure if Steve had done it because he wanted to, or because he was giving Bucky a chance to have some alone time with Clint. Because the punk knew he was pining and Steve was stubborn as hell, as Bucky had good reason to know.

Natasha sharing with Sam –that had also come as a surprise, since nobody had said they were a thing. Then again, maybe they weren’t. Pining seemed to be a thing for the Avengers and those associated with them. Or it could just be practicality. With Natasha, who knew?

With Bruce grabbing the couch as promised, that left Bucky at loose ends and only one reasonable place left to go. Because sleeping in the quinjet really wasn’t that reasonable, right?

And Bucky, at least, knew he was perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed as Clint.

In fact… he’d kinda missed it.

But it wasn’t quite the same, now, and Bucky wasn’t too sure of his welcome. He took a breath and tapped lightly at the door, hoping Clint hadn’t taken his aids out yet.

Barking on the other side surprised him, the scrabble of nails on the hardwood floor approaching the door. He blinked. Right. The dog. He’d forgot about Lucky.

There was a small crash, then a thud, and then the slap of naked feet padding along the same floor before the door was yanked open.

“Bucky?” Clint asked. He was obviously surprised, though at least not mad. But why would he be surpr- “I thought you’d be rooming with Steve?”

“What, and leave you at Tony’s mercy?” Bucky felt a pang hit him. Would Clint have preferred Tony? But no, Tony and Steve obviously had eyes only for each other and Clint had already mentioned that he wished they’d just get together and put everyone out of their misery.

Maybe not in those exact words, but basically.

Clint snorted and backed away from the door, waving Bucky in. “You’re right. This is the better choice.”

“Of course I’m right,” Bucky grinned, hiding his relief with joking words.

“Damn, you sound pretty sure of yourself,” Clint said with a laugh. “How’s your memory? Everything coming back to you or what?”

“Yeah. A lot, actually, both good and bad,” Bucky said, shrugging. He dropped his bag – brand new, from Steve of course - by the tall dresser.

“That’s good,” Clint said. “Well, mostly good. Not the bad bits, obviously. Who would want to remember the bad shit? I certainly wouldn’t. And that’s something I know from experience and oh my god, I’m rambling. Uh, shit. So, yeah, okay. Sooooooo, I hope you don’t mind sharing with Lucky. He’s a bit of a space heater _and_ a bed hog.”

“I think I can manage.” Bucky bent down, unzipped his bag and pulled some clothes out. “I’ll just, uh, go and get ready,” he said, feeling suddenly nervous. Which made no sense, since Clint and he had shared a bed for at least two weeks with no problems.

Unless you counted nightmares, but that was mutual and so had the comfort been.

He changed quickly, then returned to Clint’s room. There was a small light on and Clint was already in the bed, Lucky at his feet. His aids were laying beside the light and Bucky felt a bit of disappointment. That seemed like a clear signal of ‘done talking for the day’.

He had to admit, showing up unannounced on someone’s doorstep was likely to put a crimp on any plans that person had. Add to that, the utter lack of privacy their actions had resulted in, with too many people for the space...

All in all, Clint had been more than gracious.

Bucky settled into the bed, pulling the blanket up and thought back to those nights in the safehouse, when he hadn’t hesitated to curl around Clint after the first night.

Things were different then, though, right?

Clint rolled over and sighed. “Come here, you.”

Tension bled out of him at the first touch of Clint’s hand to his shoulder and Bucky closed his eyes as they nudged closer together.

This felt right.


	7. Clint's POV - Rash Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note - Clint's being a little hard and down on himself and he thinks a little bit about his childhood here - nothing explicit, but definitely implied abuse from his dad. I didn't put that in the tags because i forgot, but it's really brief and i wanted to put that here to warn anyone who might have a problem with it.

Clint woke slowly and comfortably warm, reluctant to move. He shifted, pulling the warmth closer and something vibrated under his hand.

“Stop moving,” he mumbled. Or he thought he mumbled. He may have just thought it. There was another vibration, a little stronger, and Clint’s sleep fuzzed brain couldn’t remember why that was important, what that meant.

The bed shifted – Lucky moving, jumping down – and Clint was still holding something warm and breathing.

He blinked his eyes open as best he could, to find himself staring at a plain black tee shirt.

And then he remembered.

The team, plus Bucky, all converging on his farmhouse. Having to figure out sleeping arrangements. Bucky… sleeping with Clint, and not with Steve. He was still quite confused about that one. He leaned away, rolling to his back – noticing that he had to detangle their limbs to do so which did _not_ send a funny, tingling feeling through his body, _thank you very much_ – and stretched, yawning widely.

He let his arms fall to his chest and turned his head towards Bucky who was… wide awake and watching him with a small smile.

Of course.

“Good morning,” Bucky signed, his mouth moving with his hands.

Clint grunted, eyes struggling to slide shut again. “Coffee,” he mumbled, shaking his head, opening his eyes and pushing to sit up.

That was about as far as he got. Next thing he knew, Bucky was sitting up beside him, laughing, _the ass_ , and shaking Clint with every gleeful chortle or whatever. Clint had, apparently sat up enough to fall slightly forward and then sideways into Bucky and may or may not have dozed off again.

Just a little.

He yawned again and looked blearily up at Bucky, tapping at his ears. Bucky nodded and leaned behind Clint and over to reach the bedside table, keeping one arm steady on Clint – presumably to keep him from falling backwards on top of Bucky, which probably wouldn’t be all too comfortable, Clint was willing to bet.  

Though the sudden image of him laying atop Bucky had Clint blushing.

When he sat back up, Bucky held the hearing aids out and Clint plucked them from his open hand. The world came back into as best a focus as it ever did – not even Stark Tech could compensate for flesh and blood ears 100 percent, though it came closer than anything else Clint had ever used.

“Thanks,” Clint said around another yawn. “What time is it?”

Bucky craned his neck around. “’Bout ten. Slept in.” He looked surprised.

Clint patted at Bucky’s leg. “Nah, that’s early. C’mon. Need coffee.”

“You _always_ need coffee,” Bucky said, but he was already throwing back the blankets and getting up. He’d gone to bed in sweats and a tee and he was padding through Clint’s room barefoot. He looked altogether too good; relaxed and comfortable in soft, loose clothes that fit him better than the ones he’d been borrowing from Clint when they first met.

And he looked like he belonged here, in Clint’s room, in Clint’s house. _Fuck._

Blinking quickly and looking away, Clint pushed up from the bed and followed after Bucky. Lucky had already nosed the door open – Clint had left it cracked for him as usual, just in case – and left, probably to beg someone else in the house for food or to be let out.

When he reached the hallway, the smell of coffee, bacon and pancakes rose to hit him and he moaned at the scent. In front of him, Bucky tripped, catching himself on the wall at the top of the stairs and sending an unfathomable look Clint’s way.

It seemed everyone was awake when they reached the kitchen, Clint and Bucky being the last ones to arrive. Bruce, it turned out, was the one cooking, though it was Tony who was poking about in Clint’s cupboards.

“Barton, you don’t have enough plates,” he complained.

“You invaded. Shoulda brought your own,” Clint grunted, beelining towards the coffeepot.

“Rude,” Tony said absently, still banging doors open and shut. “Your organization skills are crap, too.”

Clint ignored him, reaching blindly for the mugs in the cabinet above the coffee pot only to freeze when his hand grasped nothing. He looked up. No mugs. He looked around to see that all three of his mugs were already in use.

He slumped.

“Awww, coffee cups, no…” he mourned. Maybe Tony was right, but it was too early in his undercaffeinated morning for Clint to admit that.

A mug was pressed into his hand and Nat was shaking her head at him. “I bought extra yesterday, so stop complaining.” She looked past him at Tony. “And we bought paper plates yesterday too.”

Tony sent her a dirty look, muttering something about philistines, even as Clint happily turned back to the coffee machine and poured out his coffee. Nat handed a mug over to Bucky too and together, they stood side by side, leaning against the counter.

Steve looked up from his plate of pancakes and laughed. “The two of you look like you’re guarding the coffee supply from the rest of us.”

“How do you know we’re not?” Clint smirked.

“Just shut up and eat your pancakes, Steve,” Bucky said.

“I’ve gotta say,” Sam called from the table, “Both of you are looking better rested.”

“What can I say, being retired suits me,” Clint shrugged. Beside him, Bucky had gone still – not that he’d been fidgety before but… stiffer, definitely stiffer, a strange tension radiating from his body.

Clint tried not to think about that, or how much better rested he currently felt. Still coffee deprived, but definitely better. The last time he’d slept so well had been at the safehouse.

In Bucky’s arms.

He wondered if it was the same for Bucky. No, wait, bad brain. He’d come out here to make sure he _wasn’t_ getting in between Steve and Bucky’s romantic reunion and wondering about that was exactly the opposite of his intention.

“I don’t think that’s what I meant,” Sam said slowly. _Awww, Sam, no… don’t say it, don’t say it._ Clint hurriedly took a gulp of his coffee.

“Next batch is ready. Who wants them?” Bruce called. Clint almost slumped in relief as Bruce’s question derailed Sam. He grabbed one of the paper plates and half the stack of pancakes before snagging bacon and sitting down across from Steve. Tony took the other half of the stack and sat beside Steve.

Rather closer to Steve than usual, actually. Clint resolutely kept his eyes from flicking over to Bucky to see his reaction.

Which was hard to do since Bucky proceeded to sit down right next to Clint and was currently stealing bacon from his plate. Clint almost choked, his thoughts whirling dizzily. He’d have thought that, now that Bucky was back, any feelings Steve might have been developing for Tony would have fallen away. Unless… was he _wrong?_ Had Bucky and Steve never been a thing to begin with? Was Clint torturing himself needlessly?

Clint silently drank his coffee, feeling the weight of Nat’s eyes on him as he did. He avoided her gaze, but could feel the heat of Bucky all too clearly beside him.

God, this uncertainty was killing him, but there was no way he could just, straight up ask, was there?

Letting the team talk around him, Clint focused on his coffee. Other than the topic of Clint’s leaving, which seemed to be hanging over them - or maybe it was just him - everything else was comfortable, reminding him how much he would be missing if he stayed away from the Tower.

Not that he was planning to stay away completely, really. Just… he needed space.

Perfectly reasonable, right?

He shook his head and got through breakfast on a steady supply of coffee, before taking Lucky outside for some air. Steve followed him and internally Clint winced. God, no. Not another pep talk.

“It’s nice, here. Peaceful,” Steve said. “Can see why you came out here. Part of me wishes…” Steve sighed.

_Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask -_

“Wishes what?”

Steve shrugged. “Wishes life were simpler. That I could just… settle down, be a normal person. But I can’t. The problems in the world don’t go away.”

“Steve, you can’t fix everything. The problems in the world – it’s too much for one man to fix, even a super one,” Clint pointed out.

“Maybe so. But if I can make a difference and inspire others to do the same, then I’ve got to do it,” Steve insisted. He cast Clint a sidelong glance.

“Sure, I can see that,” Clint agreed. “But everyone needs a break once in a while, and that includes you. The way you go on, I’m not sure you’ve had one since the 40’s.”

Laughing quietly, Steve shook his head. “I don’t know, seems a 70 year nap under the ice might count for a break.”

Clint snorted. “Like hell. Pretty sure that don’t count.” They watched Lucky bouncing around the overgrown lawn for a few minutes before Clint took a breath and braced himself for grateful Steve. “Look. Seriously, everyone needs a breather once in a while. You’re welcome to think of this place as a home away from tower. You and Bucky and the rest of the team, for that matter. Just… maybe a little more warning before everyone descends at once. We can call it the Barton Recovery Farm or maybe Barton’s Rest and Recreation? Which do you think sounds better?”

Steve laughed again and Clint found he hadn’t braced himself enough, his body suddenly engulfed in a super soldier hug, just loose enough not to irritate his ribs. He still grunted at the unexpected impact, but hugged Steve back. Pulling away, Steve grinned ruefully at Clint.

“I came out here to help make sure this –" he gestured around them. “Was what you really wanted, what you really needed and… I think you helped me instead. See, this is what I mean, Clint. This may be the right move for you, and if so, I won’t try to talk you out of it. You need to take care of yourself and you know yourself better than anyone else. You know where your limits are but let me assure you that you’re valuable to the team for a lot of reasons and you _will_ be missed.”

“So, you’ll just have to drop by more often then,” Clint pointed out.

Clapping a hand on Clint’s shoulder, Steve nodded. “As long as you remember, if you ever change your mind, there will always be a space open for you.”

They finished out the walk, Clint giving a short tour of the farm before the two of them went back in with Lucky on their heels. The tv was on when they rejoined the others, Tony having done some magic that Cint didn’t bother trying to follow to get it hooked up to more than Clint should have had access to.

The living room was decent sized, for a farm house, but with 7 people (and a dog), most of them large, it was a crowded affair – though less so than the kitchen had been. Nat claimed the lone recliner, Sam perched on the old, beat up leather ottoman, and Steve and Tony took the couch, squeezing together just enough to leave space for Bruce to gingerly sit next to them, casting them suspicious glances.

Leaving Bucky and Clint as the odd ones out. That was okay. Clint had a little window nook behind the couch and he curled up on the old cushions there and moments later, Bucky joined him.

Clint’s breath caught before he managed to get it going again. _Just act natural. You can do it, Barton_. It took him over half the movie to relax, but when he finally did, he began to shiver. He frowned and rubbed at his arms.

“Cold?” Bucky murmured.

“Yeah, a little,” Clint said softly, his brow drawing together. Heat was on, and the power was too, so that wasn’t the problem. Before he could figure it out, Bruce turned around on the couch to say something to Clint and paused.  

“Uh… did anybody else know snow was in the forecast?”

“I did,” Nat said unconcernedly.

“Don’t worry about it. How bad can it get?” Tony said absently, staring at Steve. Oh god, he was at it again. Had he been like that through the whole movie? How had Clint not noticed? How had _Bucky_ not?

 “Midwestern winters?” Clint suggested cautiously with a shrug. “Not sure. It’s been a while since I’ve been here through one of those, but pretty bad, I think.”

“Like a little bit of snow could ground the Avengers,” Tony said with a dismissive wave. Clint nibbled at his lip. He wasn’t so sure Tony should be so blasé about it. Then again, what did it matter to Clint? He’d retired. He didn’t have to answer any assemble calls.

Steve looked at Tony, then back to the tv and Clint could see his shoulders tense. He managed a few more minutes before he stood, walking over to the window nook and leaning between Clint and Bucky, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Get off me, punk,” Bucky said lightly.

“Hold your horses. I just want to look.” Steve watched it come down for a few minutes and Clint couldn’t help looking too. His childhood memories of winters here were old and faded. He remembered deep snow, but he’d been a child. Everything looked bigger and grander than. Even his dad, at first. Then later, he still looked bigger, looming over Clint worse than nightmares of the monsters under his bed or in his closet.

“Doesn’t look that bad,” Steve said. “The flakes are large and fluffy and slow. It’s pretty.” He stepped back but Clint saw his fingers twitch and Bucky laughed.

“You want your sketchbook, don’t you?’

Steve grinned back. “You know me so well.”

Tony stood, clapping his hands together noisily. “Okay, you know what this needs? Hot cocoa. The kind with marshmallows. And Barton, I swear to god, if you tell me you don’t have any in this house, we’re going to have to rethink our friendship.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Heaven forbid.”

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Clint did, in fact, have hot cocoa. Not that he remembered picking it up. That was probably all Nat. While everyone else headed for the kitchen once more, this time at Tony’s insistence that hot chocolate was a must, Clint went through the house.

Now that it was snowing, he had other worries. The farmhouse was old and still in much need of repair, despite how much he’d worked on it already. He tried to remember what his parents had done during the winters, when the cold drafts had come in.

Clint remembered nights of shivering under every threadbare blanket he and Barney could get their hands on, cuddled together on Barney’s bed. Their dad hadn’t liked that one bit, actually, and both Clint and Barney had paid the price, resolving not to do it again.

But then the next night was just as cold and they had no other choice.

A soft step behind him had Clint turning to see Bucky there. “Everything okay?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, just… checking for drafts. Now that I know it’s snowing, I’ve realized why it’s gotten so cold in here.”

“Well, sometimes, when it got too cold, Steve’s ma would put blankets over the windows.”

Clint hummed thoughtfully. “Actually… I think I remember my mother doing the same. I hope we have enough blankets with all of you here. And I might want to get the wood stove going, take the brunt off the heater or the old thing might bust something and leave use even colder.”

“You got any wood chopped?”

“Some, not sure it’s enough,” Clint admitted. He hadn’t planned on using it. He’d figured if he got cold enough, he’d just bundle up under a few sweaters and a few blankets and a hot drink and binge watch Dog Cops or something, with the heat on just enough to keep the edge off.

“Show me, I’ll take a look at it while you finish in here.”

“You know how to chop wood?”

“Can’t be that hard,” Bucky said with a grin. “Especially if you show me first.”

Soon enough, Bucky was splitting wood like a pro and Clint was having to force himself to look away as he imagined bulging muscles under that coat. He cleared his throat and returned to checking the house.

In the attic, he found a bunch of mothball ridden blankets his mother must have stashed away and he paused, running a hand over them sadly. They were too old and too smelly to sleep under but would do well enough for the windows and he grabbed them, tossing them down the attic stairs to land in a heap on Sam’s head.

Sam glared up at him. “Thanks.”

Clint peered down through the opening and grinned. “No problem, bro.”

He scrambled down the ladder and together, they worked on the bedrooms first. Clint pausing to watch Bucky unobserved. He’d worked hard enough that despite the snow and the cold, he’d taken his jacket off and now Clint could see that his imagination hadn’t done Bucky any justice at all.

Biting his lip, he looked away before Sam could notice where his attention had wandered and returned to putting the blankets up. There was a bit of trial and error before they got the hang of getting them up and having them stay, but eventually it worked and they moved on.

Steve looked up from the window nook he was now occupying with his sketchbook and Clint paused to take a better look at the thing as he passed by. It looked familiar, somehow.

Well, of course it looked familiar. It was a spiral bound book with blank paper in it, and Steve must have a dozen of those or more around the tower.

Putting the sketchbook away, Steve stood and reached for a blanket. “I can help with that. My ma used to do it all the time. We weren’t exactly the best off, especially with me getting sick all the time.”

“Yeah, Bucky mentioned that,” Clint said.

Steve brightened. “He remembered that? That’s great. His memory’s coming along pretty nicely, actually. Much better than I would have expected.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Clint said, a sour feeling pushing into his stomach and setting up shop. Bucky would remember everything eventually, and then the stolen glances he tossed Clint’s way would stop, and Steve and Bucky would be a thing again, and Tony and Clint would be left in the dust, forgotten.

He had a sudden urge for solitude, but the problem with the farmhouse was that there were no convenient hidey holes to take advantage of if things got to be too much. Other than locking himself into his room, Clint couldn’t see any escape. And if he did that, the others would know something was up and try to corner him and _then_ what would he do?

They’d already followed him here all the way from New York. He didn’t think there was any real hiding from the Avengers and he couldn’t exactly explain how he was jealous of Steve, and _why_. That he wanted Bucky for himself. He barely knew Bucky and vice versa. Bucky and Steve had history.

As soon as they finished covering the windows and making sure he had every clean blanket he could find out where everyone could grab them if needed, he retreated to his bedroom long enough to change into some winter gear.

Well… jeans, socks, boots, tucked in tee-shirt, a sweater and a heavy coat was about it, but that should be good enough. Just needed some… he dug into his bag from the Tower, upending it all onto the bed, looking to see if he’d thought to pack that nice hat, scarf and mitten set Steve had got him last year.

All purple, of course. Steve was a good team leader, and it filled Clint with guilt that he was jealous of the relationship Steve had with Bucky. God, he was such an ungrateful, selfish little -

A book tumbled out of his bag, the one he’d liberated from the tower accidentally and which Clint didn’t even remember packing, and he realized why Steve’s sketchbook had looked familiar.

This was one of those sketchbooks.

Hesitantly, telling himself that Steve never seemed too shy to share his work, Clint reached for the book and flipped it to a random page.

A very detailed drawing of Bucky, drawn with absolute care, stared up at him from the page. He swallowed, flipping through a few more pages. All of them Bucky in various times of life. As a child. As a Soldier. As the _Winter_ Soldier. As Bucky was now. Again and again and again and Clint dropped the book like he’d been burned, a strangled noise in his throat.

He turned blindly, leaving his room and pushing down the stairs. He made his escape out the front door while almost everyone was still laughing in the kitchen and drinking their hot cocoa. Steve was engrossed in his sketchbook with Lucky draped over his legs and Clint carefully shut the door behind him with a very soft click.

The snow was still falling, the flakes coming a little faster, but still big and fluffy. A good covering had already blanketed the yard, but Clint’s yard was overgrown enough that spotty bits of grass still poked up through the snow. He headed away from the house, towards the woods, away from any eyes that might see.

The bonus of the now blanket covered windows was that if no one had noticed him leave then they wouldn’t see him crossing the yard, and Bucky was still chopping wood in the back.

Still, Clint didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he managed to get past the tree line and out of sight of the house.

He was being stupid, possibly, but he needed space, he needed to breathe. He needed to do what he’d come out here to do.

To put Bucky behind him.

That and retire but two birds, one stone, yadda yadda.

He trudged through the snow and the thickening silence, lost in his own thoughts for a good, long while. It was a circular pattern of guilt and wishful thinking, of depressing thoughts like _‘why would he give up Steve for me anyway?’_ and _‘I’m a horrible friend, lusting after Steve’s old time boyfriend.’_

Part of him tried to point out that there was a chance it wasn’t _like_ that between Bucky and Steve, but the louder part of him was very sure it _was_. The memories, the end of the line, the way they were always in each other’s personal spaces, the sketches.

The fact that it was _Steve_ that broke through Bucky’s brainwashing.

It all pointed to something damn close.

Why was he even fixated on Bucky anyway? They’d known each other, what, 4 weeks? Five? God, Clint didn’t even know. He’d lost all track of time in the safehouse. Still, it hadn’t been long at all, so how the hell had Bucky wormed his way into Clint’s mind so tightly? How had Clint relaxed so much, so fast around him? None of it made any sense.

He slowed, trembling, blinking slowly as he realized his toes had gone numb. And his nose. And the tips of his ears. His fingers weren’t much better off, despite being shoved deep into his coat pockets. Clint blinked and looked around and swore.

While he’d been walking, it had grown dark and the snow thicker and heavier. The air was colder and…

… and he wasn’t sure where he was.

_Way to go, Barton. Way to act like the dumbass your father always said you were_. Running off into a snowstorm without even a hat and gloves had definitely not been the best of ideas. He turned around and relaxed slightly when he could see his footprints, though he knew that wouldn’t last too long. He hurried to take advantage of it while he could, taking time to pay better attention to where he was going.

The wind picked up as he walked and his trembling turned into full body shivers. His toes were growing number by the second and soon he was stumbling along jerkily as he tried to find his previous footsteps in the fading light and the piling snow.

It was far, far too soon when Clint tripped to a stop, having to concede that he’d lost even the barest hint of a path.

The smart thing might be to stay in one place and hunker down, but Clint didn’t actually think that would help in this instance. Most people weren’t so stupid they went into this weather so underprepared. Others would have people looking for them.

But he’d left without telling the others he was. For all they knew he was back in his room and they were giving him the space he needed, because they were good people like that. And he’d fucking run away. Again. And now look!

Choking slightly on the cold air when he breathed too deeply, Clint decided to push on. If he stood still too long, the cold might get to him. This way, he had a chance to keep the blood flowing and keep slightly warmer. And hell, maybe he’d get lucky and strike farmhouse.

Way his luck had been lately, Clint wasn’t about to count on it.

Dammit. All that Avenging and super hero shit, all those clandestine spying and infiltration missions, and _this_ was how Clint was gonna go out? In a godforsaken _snowstorm?_

Figures, Clint thought muzzily, pushing onwards. He stumbled forward, head down now against the wind, just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other with feet that didn’t want to cooperate.

It was growing darker, too.

Way… way… too dark…

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

 “Come – idio –"

There was a voice. That was important, right? Clint had a feeling that was important.

“You – dar – e – dead,” it said. The words made no sense, but he thought he recognized the voice. Had his aids broken?

Clint frowned, curling up tighter as something jostled him. “Lemme sleep,” he mumbled, the words sounding even funnier than normal to his ears. Maybe his aids _were_ broken. Fuck. He couldn’t remember where his backups were.

“Fuck, you’re cold,” the voice – wait, that was Bucky, right? Yeah, Clint was pretty sure that was Bucky.

The world shifted and Clint went dizzy, his body coming into contact with something hard and warm, his head lolling until it came to a stop on something soft covering that hard warmth. _Hmm… that feels good,_ he thought.

Bucky chuckled, but it sounded off, not quite as happy as it should. “Yeah, I know it does, sweetheart. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Home. That sounded nice. Had Clint really ever had one of those? He had places he’d lived, spots he’d stopped in for a while, but the closest to _home_ he’d ever gotten had to have been the tower.

And then he’d left it.

What had he been thinking?

“Yeah, I’m askin’ myself the same question,” Bucky huffed out.

Was Bucky a mind reader? How was he answering Clint’s thoughts? Fuck, did Bucky know he liked him? Had he known all along? _Oh, Steve’s gonna be so mad_ , he thought miserably.

“Steve’s not mad. He’s worried. They all are. Dammit, why did you take off like that?”

Yup. Definitely a mind reader.

“I’m not a mind reader, Clint. Just answer the question.”

Great. Bucky sounded annoyed. Clint didn’t want Bucky to be annoyed at him. He sniffled and it hurt, his eyes burning. He turned his face, burying it into the warmth of Bucky’s coat as he floated and bounced –

 - Bucky was carrying him? He could walk. He sniffled again, rubbing his nose on the jacket. It was so warm.

“God, you’re so out of it. You’re kinda scaring me here,” Bucky muttered. “C’mon, you need to wake up. Keep talking to me, okay? ‘Bout anything. Just… talk.”

Why would Bucky need Clint to talk? When he could see Clint’s every thought? Oh god… if he could see his thoughts, he’d have to know that Clint was jealous of Steve –

“Why the fuck would you be jealous of Steve?”

\- that he wished him and Bucky could be together instead –

“ _Instead?_ What the fuck -! Is that what you’ve been on about?”

Why did Clint always fall for the ones he couldn’t have? He struggled to get his thoughts in order, knew he had to apologize to Bucky, tell him that he’d tried to stay out of his way, to not make things awkward.

“Wait, was _that_ why you left the tower?”

Clint jounced, then he was pressed tighter to the warmth of Bucky’s chest. Despite how good it felt, Clint’s shivering hadn’t lessened much, if any. Then again, with the ache in his ribs, how could he tell?

“Dammit, when you get warmed up and a little more coherent, I think we need to have a nice, long talk.”

Awww…talks, no… that always led to trouble.

“Sweetheart, if I understand your mumblings right, trouble is the last thing it’s going to lead to. Just hang tight, okay? We’re almost home.”

Yeah, Clint really did like the sound of that. Especially Bucky saying that, calling a place Clint lived in as _his_ home too.

He could stand to hear it again, even if it _was_ a hallucination.

“ _Not_ a hallucination,” Bucky said.

_I bet all the hallucinations say that,_ Clint thought, his mind stuttering and slipping away, losing the battle for consciousness.

_At least I have Bucky this time…_


	8. Bucky's POV - The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! the end of my first Winterhawk long fic! Hope you enjoyed the ride!
> 
> See end note about the Hypothermia tag

Bucky had been chopping wood for a good long while when he was hit by an all too familiar feeling, with the kind of urgency he’d felt right before that last mission with Steve.

He tried to ignore it – they were in the middle of nowhere, after all, what could really happen all the way out here? – but eventually it grew too much for him to comfortably ignore, an itch between his shoulders that set him on edge.  He grabbed his shirt and coat and headed back inside through the back door. Lunch sounded really good right about now. And a shower, actually.

And if that meant he could check on everyone, that was just a bonus.

The rest of the team were spread out now, instead of clumped together. Steve and Tony sat on the couch together, talking softly, Steve’s sketchbook laying neglected on his lap. Natasha was still curled up in the recliner, this time with a book. The tv still played, but the volume had been lowered and nobody was watching it.

Sam and Bruce were in the kitchen, talking quietly. Lucky jumped up when he saw Bucky and scampered over, wriggling to get his attention.

“Hey buddy, where’s Clint?” Bucky asked, crouching down to pet Lucky.

“Haven’t seen him since we finished tacking up the windows,” Sam said. “He looked like he wanted to be alone for a bit. Not much of an option for that, way out here, not after we…” Sam shrugged and gestured around them.

Bucky hummed. “All right, well, I finished chopping the wood. Anytime he wants to start up that wood stove, he’s good to go. I think I’m gonna take a shower, if I can find where he stashes the towels.”

“Good luck with that,” Bruce said with a smile. “Took me forever to find the pans this morning.”

“At least they were _in_ the kitchen,” Sam pointed out. “I found a quiver of arrows in the upstairs bathroom last night. Wherever they belong, pretty sure it’s not there.”

Bucky chuckled and headed up the stairs. He actually found the towels rather easily, a closet at the end of the hall proving to have them – as well as other odds and ends. He picked up a bouquet of fake flowers, and looked over the single bike tire with another chuckle. He put the flowers back, grabbed the towel and knocked on Clint’s door.

It was the only place Clint could be hiding and Bucky was reluctant to intrude on that if Clint needed the space but his bag was also in the room.

“Clint? I just need to grab my bag and then I’ll get out of your hair, all right?” He waited for an answer but there was nothing, and the itch between his shoulder blades grew worse. Clint probably just took his aids out, or fell asleep. Nothing to worry about, right? Grimacing, Bucky turned the knob and eased the door open, an apology on his lips that died as he noted the empty room.

That explained why there was no answer, but now his grimace had deepened. Where was Clint?

His shower could wait. Bucky had a really, really bad feeling. He looked around, frowning, as he ducked into the other rooms, making a quick check of the rest of the house – including the attic - and went back downstairs.

Standing between the two rooms to be heard by everyone, Bucky asked, “Where’s Clint?”

“In his room, I think,” Steve said.

“No, he’s not,” Bucky said.

Natasha lowered her book and stared at Bucky with concern. “Did something happen?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Bucky said.

Steve stood up and went to the door, looking outside. “Snow’s picking up. You don’t think he went out there?”

Natasha swore. “He better not have.”

“Would he?” Bruce asked hesitantly.

“It’s Clint. There could be any number of reasons ranging from dumbass to actually necessary,” Tony said.

“Tony,” Steve reprimanded, turning away from the door. “Maybe he just took Lucky out?”

There was a bark at his name and a scrabbling of nails on the floor and Lucky appeared from the kitchen.

“Fuck,” Bucky said.

“And we’re sure he’s not in the house?” Sam asked. “Before any of us do something equally dumb as going out into a snowstorm underprepared and getting lost.”

“Unless I missed a secret room,” Bucky said. He turned to Natasha and raised an eyebrow. She stood and nodded.

“I’ll double check, but I don’t think so. I know he’s got plans for this place but he hasn’t had time to implement them all yet,” she said, disappearing from the room.

“While she’s doing that, what have we got for supplies?” Sam asked.

“Supplies?” Steve asked.

“Winter weather gear. Hats, scarves, gloves to name a few?” Sam pointed out. “Cause I don’t know about the rest of you, but I didn’t actually bring any of that.”

Bucky swore.

“I’ll go,” Steve said.

“No, I’m going.” Bucky stalked out of the room. Clint had to have some of that shit, right?

“Don’t be stupid, Buck,” Steve said, following him. “Nobody should go out there alone.”

“No offense, but the one who should be going out there is me. I’ve got the suit. With it, I can see in the dark and the cold won’t affect me,” Tony pointed out, following Steve.

There, on the bed, exactly what he was looking for. Bucky snapped up the purple hat and pulled it down over his ears, wrapped the scarf around his neck. He sat down and change his socks, paused then pulled on another pair of socks and laced his boots back up. Pulling his bag over, he continued to layer up.

“Is no one going to listen to me?” Tony complained.

“Stark, if anybody should go, its me or Steve. We have higher body temperature and super soldier sight. Does your suit have external heaters for when you find Clint? Can it go faster through thick trees than I can run?”

“No to the first,” Tony begrudgingly agreed from the doorway of Clint’s room. “And jury’s out on the second.”

Bucky pushed past him and down the stairs, zipping up the coat he’d stolen from Clint’s wardrobe. Steve and Tony followed him helplessly as he stalked towards the door.

“We still don’t know where he even _is,”_ Bruce said.

“I think I can help with that,” Tony said, relief on his face that he had something he could do to help and Bucky nodded.

“Do it.”

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

Bucky pushed through the snow at a rapid pace, bundled up in everything he could find. Even with a higher core temperature, it was damn cold out here. What the hell was Cint _thinking_?

“You’re sure this direction?” He asked into the earpiece Tony had provided.

“It’s my tech, I can track it easy.”

“Then how come you didn’t just do that when we were in New York?”

“Distance _is_ a key factor here, Barnes. Don’t get snippy.”

“Does Clint know there’s a tracking device in his aids?”

“Oh, for the love of – it’s _not_ a tracking device!” Tony growled.

“Whatever you say, Stark,” Bucky said absently, too busy scanning the ground for Clint. He couldn’t believe how bad the storm had gotten, and how fast it had.

“I still think I should be out there with you,” Steve said over the earpiece.

“If we didn’t have a place to start, I’d agree with you,” Bucky conceded. “But its bad enough Clint’s out here in this. We don’t need all of us tripping around in the snow.”

“He’s my teammate, I should be the one – “

“Can it, Steve,” Bucky growled. He _needed_ to be the one out here, even if he couldn’t quite explain that to Steve.

He wasn’t sure he could explain it to himself, how could he even _attempt_ to explain it to Steve? He kept running carefully, eyes darting about, but he didn’t slow until Tony piped back up.

“Okay, you’re almost on top of the signal now. I think.”

“What do you mean, _you think_?” Bucky demanded, panic prickling through him. What if he’d been going the wrong way this whole time? They could have lost valuable time. Something had to be wrong, else Clint would have come back by now. He wouldn’t possibly have stayed out in this, right?

“Hey! It keeps cutting out! The battery must be dying,” Tony protested. “Just, he should be right about there. Do you see anything?”

“No, I… wait, yes, fuck,” Bucky breathed, a hint of dark purple fabric already getting buried by snow. He bounded forward, landing on his knees, his hand reaching out tremulously to brush the snow off – and yes, it was Clint.

“C’mon, you idiot. Don’t you dare be dead,” Bucky growled desperately. He leaned down, carefully shifting his arms around Clint. Clint groaned and curled in on himself, mumbling about sleep. Bucky pressed his cheek to Clint’s briefly as relief flooded him.

“Fuck, you’re cold,” Bucky breathed out. He had to get him back to the farmhouse, get him warm again. He lifted and stood, tucking Clint in against his jacket. Clint shivered in his arms even as his body sought Bucky’s warmth, practically nuzzling into the softness of the outer coat Bucky had borrowed.

He set off at a jog, Clint mumbling here and there, so soft and broken, that if it hadn’t been for his super soldier hearing, Bucky might have missed it all. The whole time, Tony and Steve are in his ear, demanding answers. Bucky mostly ignored them, concentrating on Clint, and on not tripping over hidden roots.

“He thinks you’re a mind reader?” Tony asked, amused. “Now that’s a party trick we _don’t_ have on the team.”

“I’m not a mind reader,” Bucky said again, this time to Tony. Clint’s mumbles were cutting in and out, trailing off into silences that worried Bucky way too much. Nor was Bucky sure Clint was actually hearing everything Bucky said – either the aides were cutting out or just… Bucky swallowed down his fears and picked up the pace.

“God, you’re so out of it. You’re kinda scaring me here,” Bucky muttered. Even when Clint was talking, he didn’t seem aware that he was. “C’mon, you need to wake up. Keep talking to me, okay? ‘Bout anything. Just… talk.”

“Hey, Bucky, don’t panic,” Steve said. “Bruce is making something warm for him to eat and Nat’s running him a bath. Sam’s pulling all the extra blankets he can find and bringing them to his room. He’ll be okay.”

Don’t panic, that was easy for Steve to say. Clint wasn’t shivering in his arms and mumbling incoherently about… being jealous of Steve?

“Why the fuck would you be jealous of Steve?” he blurted.

“Uh, what?” Steve asked, his voice going shrill in Bucky’s ear. At any other time, Bucky might have laughed at the confusion in Steve’s voice but he was too concerned with Clint right now to bother. And right now, Clint’s words were sending Bucky on a roller coaster of emotions: disbelief, horror and hope.

The idea that him and Steve were together – had ever been – was laughable. Steve was like a brother to him. He might not remember everything yet, but the _feelings_ were there and he didn’t have those sorts of feelings for Steve.

They were rather closer than some folks, perhaps, and Clint, Bucky was starting to realize, didn’t seem to think too highly of himself, or deserving of good things. Which meant it was all to easy for him to jump to conclusions.

Erroneous ones, as it turned out, and Bucky definitely needed to set some things straight with Clint as soon as he was more coherent. As it was, it was very unfair to Clint that Bucky was hearing more than Clint intended to part with. A small part of him felt guilty about that, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it.

And if it led to better things for both of them, was it really all that bad?

Of course, they had to get back and get Clint warm first. The fact that Clint seemed convinced Bucky was a hallucination was alarming.

“Almost there, Clint, stay awake, sweetheart,” Bucky begged. Silence answered him as he broke the tree line, the farmhouse glowing a little, even through the blankets on the windows. The instant Bucky was clear of the trees, he picked up speed, eyes glued to the sliver of light appearing before him - Steve, no doubt, opening the door for Bucky to save time. Smart thinking on his part, but then, Steve had always been smart – just impulsive and stubborn as hell too.

Steve reached for Clint as Bucky slowed to get in the door, but Bucky shrugged him off.

“I’m gonna take him straight upstairs. That bath ready?”

Steve nodded. “Nat’s up there waiting for you. Buck, we have to be careful – we can’t warm him up too fast. It can do more harm than good.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Bucky took the stairs carefully, joining Natasha in the bathroom. It was too small for three of them but Bucky was reluctant to leave. Clint was groaning a little, the heat of the house already making a difference.

“Oh, Clint,” Natasha said softly. She pushed Bucky to sit, Clint still huddling into his warmth, and together they stripped Clint down to his boxers. Before they even put him in the water, she pulled a fluffy, dry towel around him and rubbed at him gently, Bucky holding him steady as Clint’s eyes blinked. They were unfocused, but at least he was awake and _that_ was a good sign.

“He’s still unsteady. I don’t like the idea of putting him in the bath, he might slip under,” Natasha murmured.

Reluctantly, Bucky agreed, the image of that first night they’d met resurfacing. She eyed him. “How are _you_ doing?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted.

“Don’t give me that,” she snapped. “You and Steve both. Super Soldier doesn’t trump everything. I can feel your fingers, Barnes. They’re like ice. You might as well join him and make sure he doesn’t drown at the same time.”

“I don’t think Clint – “ Bucky started, his eyes going wide. He and Clint – while that was a thing he wanted – needed to talk, first. Not… jump into a bath half naked together. Of course, they’d already sort of jumped into a bed together so… same difference? Clint hadn’t had any problem with that.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, glaring. She reached for Clint - she was stronger than she looked, but Bucky had already gotten first-hand knowledge of that, back in DC – and settled him on the edge of the tub, still wrapped in the towel. “Now strip.”

Bucky fumbled off his layers, his fingers clumsier than he’d thought and he swallowed when he realized she was right. She nodded at the tub once he was down to his boxers and he slid into the water. It was warm against his all too cool skin, which meant it’d probably feel like a fire next to Clint’s and was, in reality, probably fairly cold.

Natasha knew what she was doing.

He settled back against the wall and stretched out his legs as best as possible, then looked up and nodded at her.

“All right, swing your legs there,” she murmured as she guided Clint around. He hissed as his toes hit the water and Bucky reached to pull him down against him. Clint relaxed against Bucky’s chest once more, rolling his head to the side so his cheek rested flat against Bucky and a breath caught in Bucky’s throat.

This felt so much more _intimate_ than the damn bed, though they were doing _nothing_. Clint’s shivers were starting to fade by the time Bruce came to the open door, with Sam, Steve and Tony all hovering behind him. Natasha’s fingers were scratching through Clint’s shaggy head of hair and Clint’s eyes had closed, an occasional hum breaking out from him.

For his part, Bucky was almost afraid to move, or to do so much as breathe.

“Made you both some spiced hot apple cider, then cooled it down a little with some ice. It should be good to warm you both up from the inside,” Bruce said from the door. He stepped inside, handing Natasha the first mug and handing Bucky the second. “And when you’re both ready for it, I’m almost done with the curry I started.”

“I thought we wanted to warm them up slowly, not make their temps skyrocket,” Tony said.

Bucky ignored him, taking the mug in his right hand and taking a careful sip of it. A little too lukewarm for him but he could feel the heat sliding down his throat. He took a bigger sip and the heat spread lower. He drank, while Natasha was busy coaxing Clint’s eyes and mouth open, getting him to sip at his own drink. He was maybe halfway through when Clint jerked, getting a hand up out of the water to reach out for the cup and grasp it in his fingers.

Clint hissed as his fingers came in contact with the mug but he didn’t let go, drinking greedily.

“Easy, _easy_ ,” Natasha said. Bucky tightened the arm he had around Clint’s waist, setting his own, now empty mug on the edge of the tub.

“Mmmmm,” Clint protested. But he eased up, letting his head fall back onto Bucky’s chest and Natasha take the mug back. “But ‘s warm. An’ I’m so col’.”

“We know, sweetheart,” Bucky said softly. Natasha flashed him a smile and there were choking noises from the door.

“Hmm… wha’ was tha’?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, batteries’re dead in those. Don’t think he heard you, loverboy,” Tony called gleefully from the door.

Bucky glared at Tony, even as his fingers moved gently, rubbing over Clint’s stomach. Clint’s shivering had slowed and the water was cooling. It might be time to leave the tub. Steve grabbed Tony’s arm and pulled him away from the door, Sam winked at him and Bruce just watched Tony and Steve go.

Meanwhile, Natasha was taking Clint’s aids off and setting them aside.

“Water’s getting cool,” Bucky said.

“I’ll add some more warm water to hold you two over,” Natasha said, leaning over to do just that, “If somebody out there can get you both some clean clothes, maybe even toss them in the dryer first?”

“On it,” Sam said.

Warmer water flooded the tub, Natasha swirling it around a little to spread it out, the water level rising dangerously high before it sloshed over the side and she turned the water back off. She leaned back on her heels and picked Clint’s mug back up.

“All right, let’s finish this off,” she said. Bucky nudged Clint’s head up with a shift of his shoulder and Clint eagerly reached for the mug again.

He finished it off with a sigh and leaned back on Bucky and snuggled in. Bucky blushed and didn’t look at Natasha. Clint’s arm moved under the water and covered Bucky’s, threading their fingers together.

Bucky’s face grew hotter and Natasha snickered even as he ducked his head to hide his blush.

Looking past Clint at Bucky, she asked, “Ready to get out of there and get dry?”

Nodding, Bucky sat up straight, pushing Clint to do the same. Clint moved sluggishly, attempting to help. Natasha reached for Clint and between them, they got him back out of the tub and wrapped in the towel again with a light shivering. Bucky stood, stepping out of the tub and grabbing a second towel, and wrapped himself with it absently and dried off. His boxers clung to his legs, wet and clammy and turning cold.

Clint wavered on his feet and Bucky let his towel drop – he was mostly dry anyway, and Clint was way worse off, in his opinion, regardless of what Natasha thought – helping to steady him. Sam appeared in the doorway with two sets of boxers.

“All set,” he said.

“Good,” Natasha said. she let go of Clint’s towel, letting it hang, draped around his shoulders. She pulled at his boxers. “Think you can get these off?”

Clint blinked at her. He didn’t answer, not even one of those smart remarks he was known for, but he did reach for waistband and pushed at it. Natasha assisted, and Bucky stepped around to help preserve Clint’s privacy. The fabric hit the floor with a wet plop and she pulled another towel out to dry Clint off.

“I’ll take those, Sam, thanks,” Bucky said, holding his hands out for the boxers. Sam nodded and handed them over, then left the three of them alone. It took some wriggling, but eventually, they both had dry boxers on and Bucky was leading Clint back to his room and to the bed.

Clint was walking steadier and Bucky felt a surge of relief as they tucked themselves under the covers. He wanted nothing more than to just wrap himself around Clint and get him warm, but Bruce came back in that moment, two bowls in his hand.

“You both missed a meal and this will help warm you up.”

Bucky nodded his thanks as he grabbed his bowl – the curry that Bruce had mentioned earlier, over rice. It wasn’t steaming, but it was still warm. Clint was more alert, his fingers a little less clumsy and he took his own bowl, leaning against Bucky as he ate.

The food was gone quickly, despite the slow movements, warming them up on the inside even further than the cider had. Tony rejoined them then, wearing his glasses and eyeing them critically. Steve stood beside him, angled to face Tony even as he glanced at Bucky and Clint.

“Well?” Steve asked impatiently.

“Hold your horses, cap. I’m still scanning. JARVIS, verdict?” Tony asked.

“Agent Barton and Sargent Barnes are both out of danger, though it is advised that they don’t overdo it and continue to work on getting warm,” JARVIS said, the voice of the AI sounding tinny as it echoed from Tony’s glasses. The future was so weird.

Bucky handed the bowls and spoons back, looking down at where Clint was laying nearly on top of him. “Let’s lay down properly.” There was no response and Bucky almost smacked himself. He nudged Clint and signed the words as he repeated them when Clint looked.

Clint nodded against Bucky’s chest, then squirmed about. Bucky chuckled, assisting him and following suit, tugging the blanket over their shoulders as he rolled to his side and wrapped himself around Clint. Clint sighed, turning into the warmth thankfully.

Lucky jumped up onto the bed, a ball of warmth covering their feet. Bucky heard the door snick shut and then they were alone.

Bucky held Clint tight, the fear from earlier finally fading away, hope replacing it. His fingers played through Clint’s hair, Bucky unable to stop himself from making the soothing movement – though who he was trying to soothe, he wasn’t sure.

Eventually, though, he fell asleep.

* * * * * *  >>\----------> * * * * **

It was the furtive shifting that woke Bucky up. He opened his eyes and Clint froze in the act of trying to slide out of the bed, his eyes wide.

“Uh… hey, Bucky…” Clint said, a little too loudly. Bucky’s eyes flicked over to his ears and back again before sitting up, the covers falling away from his shoulders and leaving his chest bare. Clint’s eyes were drawn down and then snapped back up, his face flushing a pretty pink. The bed shifted and there was a thunk as Lucky jumped down, but Bucky ignored the dog for ow. He only had eyes for Clint.

“Hey,” Bucky said, lifting his hands as soon as he was sure he had Clint’s attention. “You ready to talk?”

“Talk?” Clint squeaked. His eyes went wider. “Talk about what?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Like about how you decided to duck into a snowstorm because… you like me?”

If Clint’s eyes had been wild before, that was nothing to what they were now as panic flooded his face. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Bucky reached for him, taking a hand in his. Clint looked down at their hands in surprise, then back up, gulping as he met Bucky’s eyes. Bucky shifted a little closer. Reluctantly, he let go of Clint’s hand.

“Clint, Stevie and I aren’t together. Not now, not then.”

Clint swallowed, his eyes bright. “But your memory – What if you were and you just don’t remember?”

“Feelings aren’t something so easily forgotten, doll, even if I can’t remember what led to them, and I just don’t have feelings like that for Steve.”

“But, the two of you – you’re just so close. He broke through your brainwashing, and, and… all those pics in Cap’s sketchbook of you, and…”

“Clint,” Bucky tried to break in. “Clint.” He said again, touching Clint’s cheek briefly before pulling back to sign. “If I’ve read everything right, Steve and I are a lot like you and Nat. Would you follow her into hell, sacrifice anything for her? And she for you? Did she not help you through your own…?” Bucky didn’t say the word, but he touched Clint’s head lightly.

Clint nodded slowly and Bucky took that as a cue to keep going. “It’s the same for me and Steve. We’re brothers and best friends and we mean a lot to each other. But it’s never been _like that_. And even if you don’t believe me, you can ask Steve.”

“So… now what?”

“What do you mean, now what?” Bucky asked.

“Bucky, we barely know each other. It’s been… what, four weeks, right? Are you saying you want to jump into something right now?”

“I’m saying that there’s something here, between us, and I don’t know what it is, or what it’ll be, but it’s a good feeling and I want to try. I want to see where this takes us,” Bucky said softly. His hands shook slightly as he signed the words and Clint’s came up and took his, stilling them. Bucky looked up, staring into Clint’s wonderful, warm eyes.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Bucky mouthed, his breath hitching, hope rising.

Clint bumped their heads together – when had he gotten _that_ close? How had Bucky not noticed Cint _moving?_ – and nodded, a smile starting to spread over his face. “Yeah, okay.”

The moment hung between them, heavy with expectation, hopes and fears. Bucky’s chest felt suddenly tight as his trembling hands reached for Clint. He brushed the back of his fingers along Clint’s cheek, watched Clint’s eyes flutter close on a sigh. Flipping his fingers open, he cupped Clint’s face with his hand, then the other came up to join it, cradling Clint gently, reverently.

Eyes opening, Clint brushed Bucky’s hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ears. Pulling away slightly, Clint looked down at Bucky’s lips and back up, a question in his eyes. Bucky nodded, breathlessly, and Clint moved forward, angling until their lips met.

It started gentle; small, light kisses, almost tentative.

Then Clint slid his tongue along the seam of Bucky’s lips, tasting them, and _moaned,_ the vibration of it making Bucky gasp. Bucky’s fingers tightened and he surged forward, deepening the kiss, reveling in Clint’s needy moans, in the flex of Clint’s fingers in Bucky’s hair.

He lost himself in the kiss, the two of them drifting closer, a hand slipping down along Clint’s naked back to press him against Bucky. Despite having slept just as close or even closer several times, despite that they’d been _just_ as naked last night as they were now, the collision of Clint’s skin against Bucky’s had him gasping into Clint’s mouth.

It was Clint who pulled away, panting, a dopey smile on his face.

“We’re really doing this,” he said, staring at Bucky wonderingly.

“Only if you want to,” Bucky answered, leaning forward for another kiss. Now that he’d gotten a taste of Clint, he didn’t want to stop. A hand in the center of his chest made him stop, glancing down then up again uncertainly. “Clint?”

“Just, I’m not going back. You realize that, right?” Clint pushed out, the words nearly unintelligible with how fast he spoke. “I already told Cap.”

“Neither am I,” Bucky said. “So that sounds perfect to me.”

Clint sagged. “Oh good.”

“Still, I wouldn’t stop you, if you ever changed your mind,” Bucky said. “You’re the kind of person who helps their friends – “

“So are you,” Clint pointed out.

“And if it’s something you feel you need to, sweetheart, I’ll back you up, all the way,” Bucky said. “You’re more than capable.”

“Even if that means I get kidnapped and you have to rescue my ass?” Clint asked. “Cause it’s happened a few times, fair warning.”

“You better not,” Bucky growled. “But if you do, you better believe I’ll come after you, if Natasha doesn’t beat me to it.”

Clint beamed at him, and Bucky leaned in for another kiss, Clint’s eyes shining in anticipation –

There was a loud knock on the door that made Bucky jump and swivel to glare at it while Lucky barked, Clint looking up in confusion before following his gaze and frowning.

“Wake up, you two. Breakfast’s ready.” There was a pause and Bucky closed his eyes, hoping Steve would just go away if they didn’t answer. He didn’t want to leave Clint when they were just working things out and getting on the same page. Or endure the others teasing when they realized something had changed between them.

“Oh, and if you don’t come out, we’re going to assume something’s wrong and come in,” Steve said smugly.

“Punk,” Bucky growled at the door.

There was a laugh and footsteps walking away. Bucky hung his head and sighed and Clint tipped his chin up. “What’s wrong?”

“Our friends are dicks,” Bucky sighed. “They’re planning on barging in if we don’t join them.”

Clint groaned and let his head drop onto Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get lectured about getting lost in my own backyard.”

Bucky chuckled and stood. Stretching, he turned back to bring Clint to his feet, only to find him staring at Bucky with a dropped jaw. Bucky smirked. “See somethin’ you like?”

“Uh…” Clint said.

Shaking his head, Bucky bent over to shift through his bag, his smirk stretching out into a full-on grin when he heard a gasp behind him, then a scramble of fabric as Clint stood and padded over to him sliding a hand down Bucky’s back lightly as he passed. Bucky looked up to see him flushing, but smiling.

They dressed with lingering looks and Bucky was considering how much of a delay they could get away with when he stubbed his toe after kicking at his bag out of the way, aiming for a corner of the room.

He frowned, picking up the offending item that had been hidden beneath his bag and picked it up. It looked like a sketchbook. One of Steve’s, actually.

“Oh,” Clint said. “You found it.”

“Why do you have this?” Bucky asked, turning to face him so Cint could see what he said.

Clint shrugged. “It was an accident. I didn’t realize until yesterday.”

Bucky opened the book and flipped through the pages. He saw the pictures of himself, that Clint must have seen, and now his statement about the sketches made more sense.

“He’s very good,” Clint said, his fingers reaching for the page. “He captures you so… perfectly, beautifully.”

“Hmm…” Bucky pushed past the pictures of himself – and Clint was right, they were good, but there were a few other things in this book Clint should see, that he obviously hadn’t. He stopped, tapping the book, listening to Clint’s indrawn gasp.

On the page was Bucky… staring at Clint. There was feeling there that Bucky had no idea how Steve had captured, but if Clint had any doubt that Bucky had feelings for Clint, the picture would put it to rest.

And it wasn’t the only one. In the short time Steve had seen Clint and Bucky together at the tower, he’d done a fair number of drawings of them both. And Bucky was fairly sure at least one of the other pictures on a previous page had been drawn while Bucky sat outside Clint’s room, worried about Clint, and Steve had been itching with inaction, unable to help.

“Oh wow,” Clint said. His fingers hovered, almost stroking the page. Bucky didn’t bother trying to speak, Clint wouldn’t notice. But there was one more thing for him to see. So, he took the book back and turned the pages until he found what else he was looking for, then he showed Clint.

They were pictures of Stark, the ones Steve had been so afraid of Tony finding, because then Tony would know Steve was drawing him, staring at him (maybe even like him and, for some reason, Steve had not been ready to admit that).

Page after page of pictures: Laughing, smirking, shirtless, sweating. Sometimes the pictures merely focused on a part of Tony – his arms, his lips, his eyes - but always and unmistakably Tony, because Steve _was_ that good, the detail too rich – better even than the ones he’d sketched of Bucky, Tony drawn with a whole hell of a lot more care, and longing.

“Oh, wow,” Clint said, laughing. “I guess Steve really _does_ have it bad. And… I really don’t need to ask him about you and him. I mean, I always knew he liked Tony and Tony liked him. But I just thought… once you came back, that it had been Steve making an effort to move on, and now that you were back, that…” Clint shook his head. “I guess I’m just a dumbass.”

“Not a dumbass,” Bucky said, dropping the book on the bed and taking Clint’s face in his hands, leaning their heads together. His thumbs moved, caressing Clint’s cheeks. “You’re right, we don’t know each other yet, we’re still learning who we are, and that’s okay. We’ll get there. And, though you were wrong, your worry about me, about Steve, it shows the love and loyalty you feel for your friends. And that’s something I love about you.”

“L-ove?” Clint choked.

“Don’t worry, doll,” Bucky chuckled. “I’m not confessing undying love just yet. But I definitely already love the parts about you I’ve been learning about. And I want to keep learning, if you’ll let me.”

Clint blushed. “Thought we already settled that?”

“We did,” Bucky said. “But I just wanted to make sure.”

“Y-yeah,” Clint said. He looked dazed but happy and Bucky was particularly giddy himself. Was this real? He hoped to God it was real. This whole past month or more – escaping Hydra, thanks to Steve. Finding Clint, possibly one of the only people who could get any of what Bucky was going through. Getting a begrudging toleration to start before making a friend – his first in 70 years – and then, against all odds, seeing the chance for something more – and wanting to take that step! And during all that, Bucky found himself, cracking the cover holding his memories hostage. He had nightmares, now that he was ‘aware’ but they didn’t seem so bad around Clint and he was learning how to cope with them. Stark was helping him get rid of his triggers, so he wouldn’t have to worry about being a danger to himself and others anymore.

All in all, after 70 years of brainwashing and torture and forced misdeeds, he’d woken up, he’d found his brother, his brother’s family and he’d found Clint.

He felt unbearably lucky in this moment and he didn’t even realize he was crying till Clint wiped the tears gently away.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Bucky. I’ve got you. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you.”

Bucky smiled through his tears, warm and happy, content and _safe_. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - about Hypothermia - the bathtub thing was something i thought i remembered as a treatment and i really wanted to do tub sharing in this fic, but when i researched more about hypothermia, it turns out it is ONLY recommended for mild hypothermia, not for anything more than that, and Clint probably has at least moderate hypothermia ( but i'm certainly no expert).
> 
> however, it's a fic, and i wanted them to do this, so i hope nobody minds this bit of inaccuracy. besides, their avengers... do they ever do things the way they're supposed to?


End file.
